


Miss Patil Takes a Holiday

by tambrathegreat



Series: The Slytherin Redemption Series [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 65,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tambrathegreat/pseuds/tambrathegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Padma's life takes a turn for the dreary when she is forced to take a holiday. Perhaps a certain pureblood ex-Death Eater can brighten her holday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raison d'Etre

**Author's Note:**

> The story to date: Lucius was a spy for the Order along with Snape. Dumbledore double-crossed him and hid the papers that would exonerate the entire Malfoy family. Draco spent six years in prison and became a drug addict. He was saved by a Muggle who bore Scorpius. She died. Her brother, a Catholic Priest, related to Snape, took him in and gave Draco a new life. Draco discovered his father's service to the Order, and was able to help get him out with Harry Potter's and Hermione Weasley's help. Lucius tried to kill Narcissa because she asked for a divorce and then tried to commit suicide. He had a stroke and was turned over to the care of Dr. Padma Patil. The two shared a mild flirtation, but Lucius decided to let her find a man who was better than he.

Lucius had spent his entire parole, all six months, adjusting to the changes in his life and the wizarding world in general. His first day of true freedom after that parole was spent in contemplation of the ruin of Malfoy Manor. Once the generations of wards had been disassembled by the Ministry, local Muggle cretins had moved in and made a hash of every surface in the building. Lucius leaned heavily on his cane as he entered the library. He contained his fury, just barely, as he moved through the room that had once housed priceless volumes on Dark as well as Light Arts. The room had been left a shambles. Books and scrolls not confiscated by the Ministry had been left to moulder in the most damaging of conditions. Many had been further desecrated by the aforementioned Muggles. Burnt leavings crumbled underneath his booted feet. Lucius swore roundly and at great length, impugning the lineage and intelligence of both Muggles and Ministry officials.

Lucius sank to the divan on which he had proposed to Narcissa, once immaculate Italian silk, but now a house for vermin, if he could tell by the sharp squeaks coming from the cotton batting that exited the rents that now streaked its surface. He looked at the fireplace, where Severus had announced his desire to join the Brotherhood of the Damned. From his seat, he could see the space that Voldemort had claimed as his throne room. Lucius could imagine the shades of the souls that had passed through the room-- both living and dead-- gibbering accusingly at him. The elder Malfoy shivered, whether from the chill of the room or mausoleum quality of the manor was a question he would ponder later. He would finish his tour and return to his cot at the rectory of St. Catherine's Halfway House in London.

Malfoy Manor was no longer his home.

He moved slowly up the once pristine Egyptian marble staircase, now littered with Muggle paint and crushed ale bottles. The west wing, which had housed his family for generations, had not escaped the depredations of time or vandals. The gallery which housed the family portraits was no longer. A window had been broken and years of the elements had leeched the life from the paintings and the Jacobian splendour from the room. The canvases had been ripped to ensure no magic remained. The material flapped desultorily in the anemic wind of late summer.

He paused outside Draco's nursery, remembering each time his toddler son had come running toward him after Lucius had spent a long day at the Ministry scheming over one thing or another. He cracked open the door only to shut it again. He could not face the destruction that spoke accusatorily of his son's life.

Lucius moved on to his room, shared with Narcissa through an adjoining panel. Silk panels hung in shreds where overzealous Aurors had searched for Dark materials and incriminating data. As if a Malfoy had need of hiding things in walls. Lucius strode to the fireplace that dominated the room. He tapped once on the brick with his newly acquired wand, and then said the incantation that Snape had developed for Lucius after he had defected to the Order.

It always boggled Lucius' mind that Snape thought himself pants at Charms. The man was nothing short of brilliant; that he was slightly more brilliant in Potions did not matter. Lucius suspected his old friend's claim of inability had more to do with the ginger-haired Mudblood, than actual truth. He wondered idly if Draco had found Snape yet. He had gone to the States with Potter to find him. If his son did, Lucius had a few choice words to say to the man. It still stung Malfoy that Severus had not thought to contact him once during the past twelve years.

A tiny panel opened, revealing the contents: a small cameo of a woman in profile, a bag of gobstones that were a scant forty-years-old, a letter, and a soft braid of hair, silver and gold twined together. The sum total of Lucius' life in four articles. The cameo was his mother's carved in a sitting with an Italian master before her marriage to Abraxas. The gobstones were what was left of Lucius' childhood after Abraxas purged Lucius' presence from the nursery the year his mother died. Lucius had been playing with them and had sneaked them into his pocket. It had been his only act of defiance to that despot. The letter was from Hogwarts and served to remind Lucius never to place trust where it was not warranted. The last, the plaited hair, he rubbed against his cheek, feeling the way the braid caught in his late afternoon stubble. Narcissa had braided her hair and Draco's together, in one of her rare moments of sentimentality, and had presented it to Lucius on their son's third birthday.

Lucius pocketed the articles, all but the hair. That, he twined between his fingers, absently contemplating the ruin of his life. Narcissa had divorced him, Draco was married and with two half-blood children and another on the way... Abraxas and the Dark Lord were both probably spinning in their graves with the turns Lucius' life had taken.

Lucius turned to leave all the ghosts of his past behind when he spied his writing desk. Amongst the wreck and ruin that was the Manor, his desk, which he had spent long hours and late nights, was in perfect order. It was as if he had just stepped out for a moment. An eerie, unsettled feeling rippled down Lucius' spine and he readied his wand.

“Who is there?” he asked his voice dry and shaking. It seemed nothing of Lucius held the dark authority he had once commanded.

There was a small pop, and Lucius was greeted by a wizened house elf that had prostrated himself in front of the wizard and was sobbing loudly. “Master, has returned! Dibby told the others he would. The others would not listen, but Dibby stayed loyal to his master.”

Lucius suppressed a grimace as he regarded the creature. He did not recognise it. It was one of a legion of house elves that had served his family. The thing's snivelling servility reminded him of his own state of mind in the last days of the war. Lucius snapped. “Oh, do get up.”

“Yes, master. Dibby will do anything for Master Lucius. Do you wish to eat? Dibby will prepare him tea. Yes.” The house elf popped out of sight. Lucius heaved a sigh. Of all the things he desired right now, a cringing, fawning house elf was low on the list. There was nothing for it. He would take the creature with him to London, and give it to someone. Perhaps the Muggleborn that the Weasley brat had married would appreciate it since she would not accept payment for her legal services.

&*&*&

Padma had completed her rounds that day more dissatisfied with her lot than ever before. It had been three months since Lucius Malfoy had left her purview, cleared medically by her, and legally by the Wizengamot. She had been his follow-up caregiver as he served his short, six-month probation at the Muggle soup-kitchen run by Father Ian Cavanaugh, after twelve years in Azkaban. While she saw to his body's healing, he had seemed to see her as more than a caretaker automaton. She had kissed him, for heaven's sake, and he had remained stonily silent. After that fateful fuck up, she had turned his care over to a colleague. A girl could only stand so much rejection before she threw up her hands. She had heard he was off probation and living over The Leaky Cauldron. Not that she was keeping tabs on the arrogant prat.

So, Padma, was once again left frustrated by romance; the last in a very short line of frustrations. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been her first, as both a lover and betrayer. Her sister had been his partner in the latter. Parvati and Justin were married four months ago and expected their firstborn in six months. Padma would never forgive her sister that betrayal, just as she would never forgive Lucius Malfoy for his empty flirtation.

The next face to come to the doctor's mind was her latest dubious conquest, Healer Panjit Pradesh, resembling nothing more than an Indian version of Gilderoy Lockhart. His winning smile and waving hair were as fake as Lockharts, and his personality just as smarmy. Her mother had introduced them at Parvati's wedding, hoping for a match with a wealthy, semi-royal, Indian family. Padma had taken one look at the poncy Healer and dismissed him entirely. He had cornered her in the powder room of the hotel and attempted to kiss her. Padma left him gasping for breath after she put the skills learned in Ian's self-defence class at the shelter, hoping at the very least her message had been clear. He, however, had one more thing in common with her former Defence Professor: He was dense as well. Pradesh sent weekly bouquets --which Padma immediately donated to Ian's church for the Sunday service-- and the git constantly dropped by her office to ask her to lunch or to go out after work. Padma's consistent answer had been no, but she was wearing down. Who was she, after all, to turn down an interested man? It wasn't as if she had any others —particularly a more mature man, with cool grey eyes and an air of danger-- beating down her door.

Padma was thankful she had not seen Pradesh today. She definitely was not in the mood for his overly solicitous attentions, or his semi-leering suggestions.

The physician retreated to her office after the end of her rounds, suddenly exhausted by the whole process of caring for people who did not care back. She felt the familiar headache forming behind her eyes and at her temples. Tonight she would do the yoga that had sustained her weakened spirits in the last months. The exercise was helping less as she sank further into depression, but Padma lived by the maxim that activity was better than passivity. She rubbed her temples and sank into a more comfortable pose, half sprawled in her seat. It was in this position that her Chief of Staff found her.

“Dr. Patil,” he began with sour distaste for the title she bore. Most of the Healers in the facility found the handful of physicians odd and distasteful. After four years, Padma was inured to the attitude.

“Yes, Healer McMurtry?” Padma struggled to a more acceptable position in her chair, one less likely to put her at a disadvantage.

The older Healer looked around at the disorder of her office as if he could not believe a proper Healer could function in anything less than sterile order as he shut the door behind him. “It has come to my attention that you have not taken any holidays since you began employment some six years ago.”

Padma knew where the conversation was heading and did not like the direction, not one bit. Her work had become her _raison d'etre_. If it weren't for her patients and the endless rotations, she would have no purpose. She stated as calmly as her pounding heart would allow, “I haven't needed time off, sir.”

“Well, the Board sees things differently.” The little dictator curved his hands over his ample belly. “Your holiday will begin on the first of August. A full month off, Dr. Patil. You will not be granted any hospital privileges during that time, nor will you be seeing any patients. Is that clear?”

“I don't understand. My review was full of Exemplaries and Outstandings...” Padma began, the headache becoming and angry buzz behind her eyes, blurring her vision.

“Doctor, your dedication has never been a problem, and your patient care has been... more than adequate.” McMurtry ran a hand under his quivering wattle and then back to his belly. “Neither of which qualities are at issue at the moment.”

“I will appeal this decision.” Patil challenged. She uttered her response with the expected heat outwardly, but a little delinquent part of her was screaming 'Yes!' She squelched the impulsive mite back into her subconscious. It was, no doubt, the part of her that almost had her sorted in Gryffindor with her sister. Padma gave herself a little mental shake. She needed to work, didn't she?

“No, doctor, you will not.” McMurtry's voice cracked like a whip over her mental dialogue. “The decision has been made. You have until the end of the month to arrange for care of your long-term patients.”

Padma's head throbbed as she stood, anger warring with sudden... _relief_? A month away from patients, and staff meetings, and romantic disappointments might be just what she needed. Not that she would admit that to the officious little prick standing before her. She scowled for effect. “I suppose I must bow to your authority, sir.”

The Healer smirked at her as if to say, 'As well you should.' He would never voice the sentiment. He had not become Chief of Staff by being impolitic. McMurtry placed his hand on the doorknob as if to leave, then paused. “I know, Dr. Patil, that we've had our differences, but this decision really was made in your best interest. I am sorry to lose your skill, even for such a short time.”

A month off and recognition from McMurtry... If Padma didn't have a headache she might have danced after he closed the door to her office.

&*&*&

Padma returned to her flat well past the end of her shift, wrung out by the latest crisis to hit the MICU. A toddler girl had been found comatose and bleeding internally after she had used her mother's wand. Normally, the injuries would have been speedily dealt with by the more traditional Healers, but the girl had somehow Vanished half her spleen with the magic she had worked. Surgery had been the only option by the time she had reached St. Mungo's. Padma had spent an additional four hours assisting the only surgeon on staff.

She threw her lab coat on the kitchen table and prepared a cup of chai. 

Chai was not the weak tea of the English. Padma coud barely stand that brew. No, it was a rich mixture of teas shipped directly from India and paid for by the kilo in the hundreds of Galleons. Her father gave her the family's special blend each year on her birthday, and she portioned it out throughout the year. She added milk to the mixture, letting it foam as it boiled. As she turned off the hob, she leaned over the pot, allowing the rich odors of her parents' homeland soak into her skin. She loved chai, and since she was celebrating, this morning was a good reason to make it.

Once the heavy glass she drank the brew from was in her hand, she settled onto the divan in the small parlour. Her flatmate, Tomas Silva, a Goan Healer for a private clinic, would be home soon. Padma hoped he wouldn't be bringing home his latest conquest. Tomas was a boy-slut who would sleep with anyone he fancied for more than five minutes. The only reason Padma felt safe in his presence was that he was one hundred percent pouf, which also meant there was a limited scope of eligible males in her vicinity from that quarter.

She finished her drink, feeling only a little better about the day's events. She reclined on the soft surface of the divan, glad that her flatmate had talked her into buying such a luxurious item. Her eyes drifted closed and she slept.

Padma woke hours later to squeaking bed-springs and passionate vocalisations coming from the vicinity of her flatmate's room. She lurched off the couch groggily and made her way past his door. She slammed her fist against the wood. The squeaking and squawking came to an abrupt halt and Tomas' laughing voice cried out, “Bugger off, Patil!”

“I'll leave that job to you, Silva.” Padma shouted in return as she wended her way to bed, still too worn out to change clothes.

&*&*&

Lucius and Narcissa met to finalise his settlement to her. She had to come to England as he was in the midst of repairing his finances. Lucius had deemed his newly renovated offices on Mardgin Alley, the business district of wizarding London, an appropriate meeting place, as he did not want her to see the shambles of the Manor or the shabby suite he was renting currently. She brought a little toy of a boy who pouted his way through the initial meeting. Narcissa finally became annoyed and turned him loose on Madam Malkins with a wave of her languid hand.

Lucius smirked, "I see you're doing well, Cissy."

His ex-wife stood, letting the loosely clasped cloak she wore fall to the seat. She wore what might have been called wizarding robes had the wizard been a naturist. The sheer, pale-blue silk clung seductively to her body, still slender as a reed. If Lucius looked at her in the right light, he was sure he would be able to see the colour and cut of her silly French knickers. She ran her taloned finger over the desk and then across his shoulders as she passed, in a move calculated to arouse. Lucius watched the pale digit with some amusement. "Cissy, I believe you are here to sign the papers?"

She pouted prettily, letting her head fall into a saucy tilt. "I believe I am, but you know I always enjoyed mixing business with pleasure."

"I remember everything quite well." He passed the papers over to her. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Lucius, can't we just be friendly...?" Narcissa began but halted her obviously prepared speech as Malfoy quirked an eyebrow in irritation. "Oh, very well."

She signed with a flourish.

"You missed Draco's wedding." Lucius stated a bald statement of fact rather than an accusation.

"Yes." Narcissa countered. "I had obligations. You know the social scene in New York at that time of year."

"Yes, I'm surprised you could tear yourself away for this." Lucius folded the documents into a pouch and summoned Dibby. "Please relay these to my solicitor."

The elf bowed and simpered before Disapparating away. Narcissa sniffed. "Please, Lucius? To a house elf? Don't tell me that dreary Muggle Blood-Priest has converted you too? A world without a wicked Lucius is just unbearably dull."

She spun him around in his chair and sat on his lap. "I've missed you."

"Obviously, since you brought your little friend along to the meeting." Lucius countered. He once would have enjoyed a sexually aggressive Narcissa. Gods knew he had tried to encourage it while they had been married. Now he longed for plump cinnamon skin and sloe-eyed beauty, not this armful of bones and angles. Since he could not have one, he would not have the other. He gave his ex-wife a push. "Enough, Madam Black."

Narcissa clung to his neck as he made to stand. "You have changed and I do believe it's for the worse. I hated you when we were married, you know."

"Yes." Lucius felt the knife-edged sharpness of her anger, even after all these years. Lucius had not loved her as she had needed. That had been his failing in the marriage. He saw that now when it was too late. "I suspect you still do."

"Oh, Lucius." She turned her cornflower eyes to him, real pain marring her perfect brow. "I am sorry."

Lucius pulled her to his body, clinging to her as if she were still the most precious thing in his life. "So am I."


	2. Family Dinner

_Two months previous..._

After Mass Dinner at the rectory had become a ritual, with Lucius' daughter-in-law, Elspeth Malfoy, presiding in all her pregnant glory while Draco and the two boys danced attendance on her. Draco and his Muggle wife had to call short their honeymoon due to Elspeth's discomfort. Draco still bore the emotional scars from the death of his first love and mother of Scorpius. It had been when Letitia (Heaven forbid Lucius refer to the mother of his grandson as Tish) Cavanaugh became pregnant, that the curse effects became known. Now, if the hearty Muggle who Draco had married so much as sniffled, Draco was poised to consult specialists. Lucius might have found it amusing, had his son's peace of mind not been at stake. Elspeth was a little over four months along and healthy as a Hippogriff. Lucius was not certain that she did not at least have a little magical blood in her background.

Bertie Cowell, Elspeth's mother, still dressed in her Sunday best, strode through the room and handed her daughter a much-washed apron. Draco stood, attempting to wrest the offending article from his mother-in-law's hands. "Liz needs to rest. I'll help you, Mum."

Lucius rolled his eyes. He had most definitely not raised his son with the word _Mum_ in his vocabulary. His son's more colourful language would not have been tolerated had Lucius been around the last twelve years. Of course, had Lucius been around, much would have turned out differently. He supposed he could live with Draco's language as long as he and his Muggle wife kept turning out brilliant children like Scorpius and Tobias.

Bertie jerked the apron out of Draco's hands as she shot the older Malfoy a look, as if blaming Lucius for his son's fears. Lucius fixed the woman with an icy sneer. Elspeth took the contested article from her mother's hands. "Draco Eugene Malfoy, when I need your help, I will ask for it. I didn’t become suddenly helpless because I told you I was pregnant six days ago. For Heaven's sake, you knew I was before I told you at the wedding reception."

"That doesn't mean I didn't worry." Draco answered his bottom lip jutting tremulously. That look had always worked on his mother, but apparently his son's new wife was immune.

Elspeth threw her hands in the air in a show of exasperation. "Mum, what do you want me to do?"

The two women left the room in an icy wake. Draco sank back to his customary position on the couch. With a sheepish grin, he said, "I suppose I have been a little overbearing."

Lucius suppressed the urge to snort. Overbearing was not the word that came to mind the first time Lucius had seen his son carry his daughter-in-law's handbag over her strenuous objections. He shifted his attention to the two boys, Tobias and Scorpius, who were currently at the window looking forlornly at the rain-soaked garden. It had been a wet June, and both boys were feeling the effects of long confinement. Lucius wished he could conjure a Wizard's chess set for the boys, but since his wand had been confiscated for the term of his parole, he could not.

The entryway door swung open and from Lucius' vantage he could see the good Father enter, now stripped of his surplice and all other trappings but the dog collar of his exalted office. Bloody hell, the day was just getting better by the minute. Lucius was not sure if the priest was still angry with him for the hash the wizard had made of his sermon that morning. Lucius could not help it if the man's oration skills rivalled the fiercely dismal level of Professor Binns, or that the celibate man found the more salacious bits of the Song of Solomon, in the priest's words, 'Wildly inappropriate for Sunday service.'

It was not as if Lucius had found the reading in a Muggle skin periodical. (Thank the gods for those and the young addict that donated them to Lucius' collection of reading materials. Wanking was so much better with visual aids, even if they were static.) The passage in question was in the Priest's holy book, for Merlin's sake. The elder Malfoy had to admit that it had been quite amusing when the Priest read that some ancient Princess' breasts were like clusters of grapes. What an image that was, especially as the priest turned an interesting shade of purple and choked on the words.

Cavanaugh entered the parlour and shot Lucius a reproachful look before going to the dismal hole he called an office. Lucius suppressed a smirk and turned his attention to the peeling wallpaper and the stained carpet of the parlour. The house smelled of the cooking luncheon, beeswax and mouldering decay. Really, an organization with so much power and wealth should do better by its employees not to mention the people Cavanaugh served. Even Lucius grudgingly admitted the halfway house was necessary. The East End was rife with despair and drug addiction. He had even seen several young wizards on the Muggle poison since he had become an inmate of the facility. He might consider offering a sizeable donation if the Blood-priest would give up his efforts to better Lucius. Really, the tomes the man had Lucius reading were enough to cause him to commit one of their mortal sins, and suicide was not the transgression Lucius was considering.

Cavanaugh returned to the room with a tattered and ancient box under his arm. "Boys, I've just found this old game of mine. Would you like to play?"

The priest levelled a challenging gaze at Lucius. The word Monopoly was emblazoned across the front of the box and on each side, the printed colours faded to pale reds and blues. Lucius sneered. "A Muggle game?"

"It's actually American," Ian answered with a sublime smile. "My father visited some family in Boston when he was a boy. He loved this game."

"Ah, yes, you are Irish." Lucius took the box lid from the priest's hands and began reading. The game did sound rather interesting, especially since the Americans believed themselves to be captains of industry. The object, it seemed, was to acquire as much property and influence as one could. Once a participant bankrupted the other players, the game was over. It sounded like something at which Lucius might excel.

The priest flushed. "My father was Scots-Irish and my mother was English. Not that it matters."

"No, of course it doesn't." Lucius continued his reading. Yes, the game might help sharpen his rusty pecuniary skills. "You are still a Muggle, after all."

"Father." Draco warned from his seat. Both men looked up, Lucius with a serene smile, the priest with a scowl. Draco uttered through gritted teeth, "I meant biological."

His son focused his glare on Lucius. "Be nice."

"I shall endeavour to follow your example, Dragon," Lucius retorted, a beatific smile gracing his face, his white teeth flashing in the electric Muggle gloom. "Tell me, Ian, where I might meet a wealthy, Muggle widow with a short life expectancy?"

"Father." Draco's voice was a whip that cracked in the silence of the parlour. The priest did not look up at the word.

"I simply see no reason to marry into penury, son." Lucius raised his brows a fraction, an innocent gesture that made his son scowl further.

Ian, for all his high holiness, stifled a chortle as he laid out the pieces for the game. Toby grabbed a small pewter dog, Scorpius a car and the priest a top hat. That left Lucius with his choice of lumpy horse, old shoe or an unrelated piece obviously from some other dreary Muggle game. It was once a vivid green if Lucius could tell by the chips of paint still clinging to the wooden surface. He picked that one, and the game began.

&*&*&

Padma could not get out of the once a month family dinner. She had tried to switch shifts, bribed, and finally begged, but no one was willing to save her from the dinner. It was as if she had some karmic duty to suffer through her mother’s attempts to marry her off and her sister’s simpering superiority. _Maa_ had said Padma's absence would be a disappointment at this dinner. There would be an announcement. _Bapa_ was the only person she did not want to disappoint, and he would be late.

Padma had decided at the last minute to bring _daal_ for the meal. She ran through her list of ingredients and the time she had to make a dish, and decided on a simpler recipe that her _daadi_ taught her. Of course, _Maa_ would look down her nose at the foreign dish. Her mother's family came from a long line of higher caste Punjabi mystics and seers. _Bapa’s_ were second-generation wizards, more fakirs than anything. Padma thought that had both families not moved to England when mother and father were young, neither family would have considered an arranged marriage uniting the two bloodlines. Of course, theirs had been a love match, so maybe each of the families would have bowed to their daughter's will and their son's desire.

Padma removed the lentils from the pressure cooker, mashed them lightly with a fork and added the heady spices before placing them in a pan to cook further. Lemon juice would be added just before she served it to set off all the flavours.

She looked at the time and decided to skip most of her make up, settling for lip rouge, kohl, and a small, rhinestone encrusted _bhindi_. Her new sari was laid out, a rich, plum silk with gold threads shot through it and a simple geometric border along the bottom and the shoulder drape. She decided on a contrasting gold blouse with purple metallic motifs embroidered on the sleeves. Her old black slip would have to do. She hadn't time during the week to run to the shop for a new one to match the sari.

As she wound the garment around her, arranging the pleats in the front in knifelike folds, just so, she heard the timer go off for the _daal_. "Tomas! Can you get that for me, please?"

"Yes, my imperious _rani_ ," his answering shout resounded down the hall. Padma quickly drew on her gold sandals, low-slung and comfortable, before patting her braided hair into place and exiting her bedroom.

Tomas was ladling the last of the _Toor daal_ into the carrying bowl that Padma used every time she attended one of these gatherings. She could not remember the last time she had attended, only that it ended as it always did, with Padma fuming at her mother and feeling sorry for herself. If she remembered correctly, it had been a few months after Parvati announced her engagement to Justin.

Tomas turned and whistled a low sound that would have been welcome coming from almost any other man, but was pointless coming from him. "You like?"

" _Ja wold, mein grosse fraulein_." Tomas answered as he popped the lid on the dish and handed it to her with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

Padma laughed. "I know I don't speak German, but I think you just called me fat girl."

"Oh." Tomas pulled a face. "That language school isn't worth the money is it?"

"It would be if you studied in class instead of flirting with the teacher." Padma retorted.

Tomas clutched his chest. "But, he's the reason I'm taking the class. Why would I want to waste time studying when I could be making headway with him?"

"Because you might learn something?" Padma asked aridly.

Tomas kissed her cheek, leaving a vague impression of sandalwood and whisker on her skin. "Well, I'm off to gay-people's Mass. Ta!"

Tomas meant a three-martini brunch with cosmopolitan chasers most likely followed by a casual shag with one of his mates or someone who caught his eye. He slipped a fag out of his pocket. He had picked up the nasty habit during his internship in the States. Padma held out her free hand in supplication. "Are you sure you don't want to skip drinking your brunch and go with me?"

"Darling, you have to face that mess sometime." He gave her a quick hug and another kiss. "Now, Francisco and Goran are waiting for me at the hunting grounds. Come by if you manage to get out of your dismal family affair soon enough. You know they just love to see you all dolled up in your sari. It gives their inner drag queen something to aim for. Now, buh-bye."

"Ta, you rat." Padma said to Tomas' retreating figure. Once she gathered her handbag, along with a light cardigan, she Disapparated from the foyer.

&*&*&

Lucius was frozen in the dream. The Dark Lord was advancing on him. He knew of the Death Eater's change of allegiance. Lucius attempted to move, scream, or do anything as the first curse hit. The Body Bind held, and he watched as Draco took the curse in his chest. Pain blossomed across his features and he shook with the force of the _Crucio_. Lucius screamed...

He was able to jerk awake, just as Scorpius landed in his lap. Lucius ran a shaking hand over his face before patting the boy. "What do you want from grandpapa, little man?"

"Nothin'" The little boy scooted further onto Lucius, grinding his bony buttocks into the older man's leg. "Just a hug."

Lucius complied before he noticed his son had entered the room. The two had little to say to each other since his release. Lucius had not been the best father, and Lucius feared Draco knew it now as the younger man assumed the mantle of fatherhood so spectacularly. Lucius let his gaze fall from his son's.

Lucius knew he had failed Draco in all ways, from taunting and bullying him into compliance to his inability to protect him when he should have. It was a damn wonder the boy even tried to have a relationship with him.

"Father," Draco uttered as he scooped his own son from Lucius' lap. His lips moved but no words came until he blurted, "Thank you for not cheating at the game. It was nice that Toby was able to win."

"The boy has a good head for business." Lucius stated in tacit approval. "I could not deny him his victory. When he leaves school, he will definitely have a place in the family business."

Draco set his son on down and patted his buttocks as he said, "Go see if Mummy Liz needs some help clearing the table."

The two men watched as the boy scampered away with a shout. Draco sat beside his father on the couch. "I don't know if you've changed or if I'm seeing you more clearly, but..."

"Dragon..." Lucius felt the familiar pain dragging at him of lost opportunities and misspent allegiance. It had been like this between them since he had taken his turn with the Order and had to leave his son out.

"I know, Father." Draco's expression was unreadable as he bumped his shoulder to Lucius'. "Thank you... for everything. Now, we've got to go. Liz's Mum has to get to work at the hospital."

As his son exited the parlour, Lucius whispered, "I love you. I always did."

Draco did not pause, but his shoulders straightened perceptibly.

&*&*&

Padma looked out over the dripping garden, the forlorn heads of the heavy flowers mimicking her pose perfectly. Parvati was pregnant. That had been the news her mother could not wait to tell her. That had been the announcement that could not wait for a Fire-call or a quick note. Padma had tried not to cry and had done a masterful job until she could get to the toilet. Kohl wasn't pretty when it ran down one's cheeks. It looked even worse when your cheating ex-boyfriend, his new wife and the woman he cheated with, your sister saw the dripping grey mass of cosmetics.

Padma wasn't even sure why she was crying. Yes, Justin had been her first, but she had not loved him-- not in the way she would marry for, at least if she were honest with herself-- and she certainly was not in a place in her career where she could reasonably consider children. It just hurt.

A week ago, she had thrown herself at Lucius Malfoy. His son was her age, for Merlin's sake and Malfoy was a grandfather, ex-Death Eater and divorced. The man who had saved Luna from further torture and rape after she had been taken from the school in her sixth year. Still, for her traditional parents, not good son-in-law material. She just could not help seeing potential crushes as potential husbands; it was the way she was raised. And if Lucius Malfoy had professed his undying love or even kissed her back, could she really stand any more drama of the East-Enders variety? Padma most definitely did not think so.

Padma slipped out the sliding door, careful to keep the silk of her sari from the muddy pathway. _Bapa_ followed her. For years, his import business had thrived in both the Muggle and wizarding communities, now as he approached middle age, he could afford to hire cousin Devi and her husband Arnold to run the business while he puttered around the garden. Today had been an exception. Vendors from India, in town for just a few days, had insisted on touring the warehouses. He had just arrived when Padma's breakdown occurred. Padma had been able to hear his shouted Marethi over his mother's calm Punjabi, with Parvati's shrill English cutting through the liquid Indian syllables.

"Let me show you the lavender I planted." He took Padma's arm in his. "It's good, almost potions grade. I got it from a bloke who lives in France and he said the stock was from the Romans."

Padma always loved the way her father's eyes lit when speaking of his garden, his refuge from daily life. "Bapa, how much did you pay?"

"Oh, no. It was free." Her father ran his hand over a smallish, grey-leaved plant. Purple-blue buds were just breaking through the calyces. "I just had to look over his books."

"Just that, huh?" Padma squeezed his hand. "I don't want to call my own father gullible, but this looks like every lavender bush I've ever seen."

Bapa smiled, the crow's feet at his eyes becoming more pronounced, his cheeks jowly. "Tell me, Flea, have you gone out with that young man your mother was pushing on you at your sister's wedding?"

"He's a prat, _Bapa_." Padma pulled a face. " _Maa_ always introduces me to prats."

Bapa's eyes crinkled more and his eyes nearly disappeared as he chuckled softly. "I know. I don't know how I ended up with her, if her taste in men runs along those lines."

The crossed to the gazebo, an Imperial-style confection of white and gold. "I always wanted you to marry here, in this garden. Do you think you'll be able to find someone on your own, or should I consult a _panthulu_ for you, Flea?”

"No, thank you, Bapa." Padma laughed at the old joke between them. The both knew that _Maa_ would have a fit if Padma was not married by the time she was thirty, and Bapa always asked if she needed the Brahmin‘s specialised help. "You haven't called me 'Flea' in years. I've missed that."

"You haven‘t jumped around like that in years. Now, let's get back to the gathering, you know how your mother is, she‘ll want to eat at eighteen hundred, sharp." Bapa patted her hand, and led her back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All words found at Wikipedia, except daal. That was in my cookbook.
> 
> Bapa: (Hindi) father
> 
> Maa: (Hindi) mother
> 
> Daadi: (Hindi) Maternal grandmother
> 
> fakir: (Hindi) A Muslim or Hindu mendicant who is often a wonder-worker. In this story a class of street magician/wizard.
> 
> Rani: (Hindi) Queen.
> 
> daal: a red lentil used extensively in Indian cuisine. Yum.
> 
> bhindi: a small sticky decorative mark set in between the eyebrows.
> 
> panthulu: (Telugu) A brahmin who parents consult for matrimonial matters if a suitable partner is not readily available. For the purposes of this story, a matchmaker.


	3. Travel Plans

_The Present..._

Padma pulled a bag of Galleons out of her handbag for her Portkey ticket. She thanked the agent, a bored, post-Hogwarts teen who had been reading a lurid-covered Romance novel entitled; _Love Amongst the Death Eaters_. A picture of a large-nosed, dark-haired wizard with a dashing air, who held an equally dashing and buxom, blonde witch, moved erratically on the surface. Both participants looked as if they were in the throes of a grand mal seizure, rather than passion.

Padma suppressed a shudder. Snape-inspired romances had become popular since the man's acquittal some thirteen years ago. Authors either who did not attend Hogwarts in the previous millennium, or who were suffering from early-onset, senile dementia, apparently wrote the tomes. Snape was definitely not Padma's idea of sexual fantasy come-to-life. Yes, he had served his purpose and followed orders like a good soldier, but he was a nightmare on two legs. How a character uttering the inevitable line, “Detention, Mistress Fill-in-the-Insipid-Name, served under me...” could remotely turn anyone on escaped Padma. Snape would no more have shagged a student than he would have given O's in Potions to Neville Longbottom.

And that hair... and those teeth... and those big ears... If Padma looked up the word plain in a dictionary Snape's picture would have scowled and directed her to ugly. He did have a nice voice and a rather well formed arse, if she were being completely honest. Of course, she had only seen the outline of his backside once, and that had been when she was serving detention during her seventh year. She had been less impressed with that aspect of him, and rather more terrified that the Carrows would intervene and take her for the special classes in Dark curses. Still, his intellect was appealing, and his spying might be considered romantic, but his chilly demeanour and cutting remarks were off-putting to Padma. All in all, she decided if he did receive attention of the female variety, it would be out of pity, rather than any appeal on his part.

Padma suppressed a snort of amusement at the thought that he was even interested in sex. There had been rumours about Professor Burbage in fourth year, but she was so pretty and young and Snape was... so Snape.

The agent was staring yawp-mouthed at Padma, the doctor's ticket offered in a limp, ragged-nailed hand. Padma flushed and stuttered an apology as she took the slip of paper. The agent returned to her purple-prose and a flustered Padma exited the office.

She made her way out of the Ministry to meet Tomas in Muggle London for luncheon in a cafe close to his workplace. He was bringing one of his friends from the surgery and had cautioned her to take a little time on herself that morning. She wore a plain while blouse and loose fitting, tan slacks, her normal work-a-day clothes. She had a shift later that day and did not feel like returning to the flat to change. Tomas would not be impressed, and she hoped, neither would her blind date. Padma wanted another person setting her up as much as she wanted to celebrate another birthday.

There was a sore topic. She would be thirty-years-old in August. _Maa_ called her almost everyday with pointed hints about Pradesh's interest in her customary truculent tone. Parvati was held up as a paragon of the virtuous daughter who was already married with baby on the way. It was enough to make Padma scream.

Padma hopped on the Underground, a conveyance she normally did not get to take. She liked the slow pace of the cars, and the anticipation of her arrival. It was noon and relatively busy with the lunch crowd. She shuffled through the mass of people to a find a strap to hang onto. She let her mind wander as the car jolted to a start.

She had decided on the Isle of Delos for her holiday. An island in the Cyclades, it had a relatively small but thriving wizarding community. The only Muggles on the island were archaeologists and a few old shepherds, and both were a seasonal lot. She had chosen that destination because she wanted to visit the Temple of the Asclepian Apollo, the wizard who had laid the groundwork for so many Healing spells some twenty-five-hundred years ago. Padma viewed this destination as a continuation of her post-graduate travels in India. When she visited her parent's homeland after her last disastrous year at Hogwarts, she had already decided her path, and she had toured the Healing temples of India from Tamil Nadu to Gujerat. Since she only had a month this time, she would begin her European tour of such destinations on Delos and perhaps make a day trip to Athens and to Thrace. The Temples of Apollo in those cities had been ruined by Muggle interference and were no longer used, but put in a historical context they might be interesting.

The carriage stuttered to a halt, to let off passengers and let more on. She saw a flash of silver hair above a set of familiar broad shoulders clothed in exquisitely tailored wizarding robes that might pass for Muggle togs if one lived in the last century. She wondered what a pureblood like Malfoy was doing riding a Muggle conveyance. It seemed out of character for him from what she knew of his prejudices. She would have expected, once he was released from his parole, that he would retreat to Malfoy Manor to gather his forces and schmooze his way to power again. Her hands fluttered to her hair as he turned, his wintry gaze warming as he spied her. He mouthed, "Mona Lisa."

She blushed as she cursed under her breath at the scenes of her last shameful interlude with him the night before his son's wedding, flashed through her mind. He probably thought her a sensualist or desperate, maybe both and neither idea suited Padma. One stop from her destination at the Tooting-Broadway station, Padma pushed herself to the door. Several men politely cleared a path for her, Londoners born and bred most likely.

A greasy-looking man, a throwback to the nineteen-eighties with his shaved head and leather clad back, shoved her against the door. "Oi, ya dizzy bint, I dare say ye’ll notice me next time."

He held her upper arms in a bruising grip as he ground his jeans clad groin into her backside, his breath fouled with cigarettes and beer fanning across her cheek. Padma slammed her thin-heeled shoe into his instep, knowing that his Doc Martens would deflect any pain. If the train were not so full of Muggles, she would have drawn her wand and hexed the oaf, Magical Reversal Squad be damned. He was hurting her. "Wot say, I teach you some foine English manners, yeh dirty Paki bitch. We'll have some fun, luv."

He grabbed her breast and pinched.

Tears sprang to her eyes. Never in her life had Padma been treated with such disrespect for her femininity and disdain for her heritage. The wizarding world, while hidebound, blood-prejudiced and ever so slightly sexist, was willing to overlook culture and gender for degrees of purity. As the doors swished open, Padma felt a shove to her back from her attacker. She fell on her knees as her heel caught between the platform and the doorway. Suddenly, a cool, pale hand was on her ankle, freeing her. Lucius Malfoy's wintry voice reached past the pounding in her ears. "We seem destined to save each other, Dr. Patil."

He swept his arctic gaze to her attacker who was the only other person to have followed her off the car. As the train pulled from the deserted station, Lucius commanded in his most cutting, cultured tone, "Introduce me to your Muggle friend."

Lucius Malfoy was in a rage, if Padma could tell by the working of his jaw and the strong pulsing of his carotid above the pristine linen collar. Lucius fixed his wand on the man, who laughed stupidly in the face of such fury as he drew a knife from his boot. "Whut's the stick for, to poke me i' t'eye, ya old perv? I got me own, see?"

Padma felt the crackling energy of Dark magic as Lucius continued his cold appraisal of the fool. The skinhead-throwback continued his derisive braying and brandishing until he was blasted with the bright, blue light of a silent curse with which Padma was vaguely familiar. Blood welled from a slice on his chest. Lucius’ wand cut again, slicing the man's legs with a flick. The wizard stood to his full height, his hair brushing the collar of his robes. Another flick and the man began to scrabble backward, away from Lucius' advancing attack. Padma rushed to stand, her ankle twinging painfully. The blonde wizard raised his wand again, his face contorted in a skull-like, grinning rictus. Padma had only seen such an expression once, and that had been on the face of a Death Eater who was aiming at her sister at the Final Battle. The Muggle fell, now writhing and gasping as the wounds deepened. Padma screamed, "Mr. Malfoy! No!"

The former Death Eater continued to advance his movements panther-like and deliberate even encumbered by his cane. He blasted another curse, and the man flew against the tile wall. The skinhead drew a rattling, painful breath as Lucius levelled his wand for another curse.

"Expelliarmus!" Padma shrieked as Malfoy's wand made another slash. His wand flew to her hand, the spell sending shards of tile through the air, as Lucius hissed a harsh exhalation in the echoing tunnel. She stunned the Muggle and rushed to him. The damage to the Muggle's body wrought by the enraged Malfoy was getting worse, and the blood was spreading. She slipped as she bent to the prone body, her trousers and hands sticky with the red liquid. She barked harshly, "What is the counter-curse?"

"Leave, Doctor" Malfoy's tone was dull, his face devoid of all emotion, his utter stillness alarming. Coldness seeped into Padma along with a healthy dose of fear of the type she had not felt since seventh-year.

Padma began running through her repertoire of counter-curses, finally finding an ancient Egyptian spell that staunched the blood-flow but did nothing to seal the wounds. Lucius sank to his knees next to her as he kicked the knife out of the man‘s hand. He plucked his wand from her numb fingers, and began singing. Once the wounds were sealed, Lucius stood and whispered, "Obliviate."

He jerked her to a stand by her hand and began hauling her away as she turned to check the man. She struggled against his crushing grip until she heard the distinctive pops of Apparation resounding in the Tube station. Lucius said coldly, "Don't be a fool."

He flicked his wand and a door marked Restricted opened with a sharp snick. He thrust her ahead of him and then cast a complex series of wards. He drew her closer, his arms like bands of steel around her ribs. Without a word, he Disapparated them from the dank interior to the hallway of a large ruined Mansion. Padma struggled against him as he cast another series of spells, his concentration never breaking. He settled her against him, pressing her harder against the length of his body and Disapparated to a second location on a sunny moor. Padma felt as if she were swooning and clawed at his arms feebly. Lucius Disapparated them a third time and carried Padma to a small bedroom in a well-appointed apartment. He strode from the room thundering, "Dibby!"

He closed and then locked the door behind him.

&*&*&

Lucius had lost what little control he possessed when he saw the Muggle filth manhandling his Mona Lisa. Legilimancy had given him the impetus to act. The man had stalked her since she left her flat that morning and had extremely dark designs on her person. He knew he should have approached the situation differently, but could not when he saw that the Muggle planned to hurt her badly. He thanked the gods that Ian had taught him about the Underground. He never would have thought to use it to get to his noon luncheon with the Priest at the Monsignor's residence.

Lucius reflected on the changes wrought on him these last two months. There seemed to be so many variants of his persona these days. Hogwarts Lucius would have left her there to deal with the Aurors and the mess on her own. That would have been the smart thing to do. Leave her to face the questions, after a quick obliviation on both her and the Muggle, while Lucius escaped. Death Eater Lucius would and have ignored the danger in which she found herself, no doubt scoffing at a witch taking a Muggle conveyance. Spy Lucius would have left no traces and got her out of there. The new Erratic Lucius, the Lucius who read the books of Father Cavanaugh, who had lived twelve brutal years of his life in Azkaban, the Lucius who had lost everything; he wanted to annihilate the vermin and make sure the girl was safe by any means necessary. That was the Lucius who endangered his freedom by kidnapping a war hero and respected physician and hexing a Muggle within an inch of his life. An urge to swear swept over him, which he suppressed out of habit. He no longer had the excuse of his stroke for that particular ill-bred weakness.

Abraxas' ghost still had a strong hold over his son. That much had not changed about Lucius.

Lucius drew out a bottle of firewhisky from the bar, surprised at the amount left only one day after he purchased it. He was drinking too much to make up for the hole left in his life over the losses he suffered. He grimaced as he realised his only friends were a house elf that he had tried to give away and a Muggle moralist. He had no wife and a son who avoided him on general principle. The same son who was off hunting Snape, the compatriot that had abandoned him to his fate twelve years ago. Gone were the days of familial supremacy. A new, Malfoy-less era ruled the wizarding world. He poured two fingers of the whisky with a shaking hand and slugged down the liquid amber. Lucius shuddered as the drink hit his oesophagus and threatened to return.

"Master called?" The house elf bowed his forehead and ears scraping the floor. Lucius poured another glass and noted with some satisfaction the small moue of displeasure on the elf's face.

"Dr. Patil is in the guest room. Draw a bath and fetch some clothes for her from Harrods or some such place. She likes Muggle clothing." Lucius downed the second glass. "I shall return later this evening. When the doctor chooses to leave please escort her to her destination and ensure her safety.”

"Yes, Master." The elf disappeared with a soft pop.

Lucius summoned parchment and a quill and wrote a brief note of apology, giving a sketchy explanation of his actions, and begging the doctor's forgiveness. He knew he would never see her again, her fear of him had been palpable during the conflict, and so her rejection of his supplication did not sting as much as it might. As he folded the parchment and left it on the mantle, he could not help but regret his hasty actions. He would miss Mona Lisa no matter how tenuous their connection.

Lucius cast _Tergeo_ on his bloodstained trousers and Disapparated to the priest's hovel, hoping he could catch the man before he left for the monsignor's residence.

&*&*&

Padma, after attempting and failing to Disapparate, began pounding on the door. She needed to return to the tunnel to explain what happened. Both of their magical signatures were at the crime scene.

Fear still clung to her like shreds of sticky cobweb. The steely weapon that she had seen today was not the man she had idealised over the past months, and certainly not the ironic, handsome aristocrat she had kissed. His coldness and control terrified her. What he had inflicted on the Muggle... she shivered. A faint pop of Disapparation drew her from her reverie and made her renew her efforts to leave the gilded prison in which she found herself.

After what seemed like hours, a wizened house elf opened the door. It bowed, its ears drooping to the floor. "Master bid Dibby to draw a bath for Mistress Doctor Patil. She is to give Dibby her clothes and change into these."

The elf held out a garnet-coloured, silk blouse and natural, linen trousers, the tags from a Muggle couturier still dangling from the garments. Padma attempted to push past the elf, but was compelled backward by an unknown force. The elf frowned. "Dibby is to escort Mistress wherever she wishes. Master is... sorry for his actions. Dibby can tell. Master left Mistress Doctor a note."

The elf pulled a creamy length of folded parchment from its pillowcase and held it out to Padma. She reached for it, still filled with a nightmare sense of wrongness. "Thank you, Dibby."

"Your bath, Mistress Doctor... it is through there." The elf bowed deferentially once more as it pointed to a door Padma had not seen before, and then it disappeared with a soft pop, the sound in the silence of the room like a nipple exiting a nursing infant's mouth.

&*&*&

Ian greeted Lucius from the rectory office, his smile warm, "I thought we were going to meet at the Monsignor's residence... Lucius, have you been drinking?"

Malfoy sank heavily to a chair, his hands firmly gripped around his silver-tipped cane to quell the shivers that had taken hold since he left his flat. He turned his lifeless, argent gaze to the fireplace, now deadened and black in the heat of the summer. “I needed it.”

"Take my word for it; No one needs alcohol, Lucius." Ian spread his large, blunt-fingered hand on the top of his desk. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

A harsh, choking laugh escaped Lucius' throat. "I don't think you want to hear it, Muggle apologist that you are."

Ian closed his eyes as if in pain. "I had thought things had changed between us, Lucius."

"We haven't the time, Ian, to explore our changed relationship." Lucius stood, almost in command of his body, but still leaned heavily on the cane. "The Monsignor awaits, if I am not mistaken."

"Sod him." Ian's tone was conversational, but his face flushed. "We can reschedule."

Lucius turned his back to the priest, his movements slow and measured. "I don't believe we can, Ian. I shall be leaving England at the end of the day."

"I don't understand, what of your daughter-in-law and your plans for the shelter?" The priest's face fell.

Lucius smirked. "I shall keep tabs on Elspeth through my normal contacts, and I shall not shirk my financial duties."

Lucius pulled a Gringott's bank draft from the interior of his waistcoat. "I think I shall miss the meeting today. Please convey my deepest regrets and this voucher to the Monsignor."

He handed the draft to the priest. Ian's eyes flicked to the paper and he stuttered, "L-Lucius, this is for... half a million pounds."

"A mere drop in the bucket for all you have done for my family." Lucius' turned a frosty smile to the Muggle. "I trust you will put it to good use."

Lucius strode to the door. "Priest, thank you for all your kindness. I wish you well."

&*&*&

Padma sat across from Seamus Finnigan, his stuffy office stacked with case-files and littered with still fluttering Ministry memo's. Finnigan, in his official capacity still looked like the jug-eared child Padma had first met years ago. In his soft, Dublin accent, he asked, "So you're telling me, that you and Lucius Malfoy just happened t'be ridin' t'Underground at t'same time and out of nowhere, a man attacked you. Then Malfoy, a known Death Eater and Muggle-baiter, cursed t'self-same fellow, and healed him. Then he took you on a Death Eater scramble finally ending at his flat. Is that correct?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but that's what happened." Padma's voice sounded annoying, even to herself. "He left a note explaining his actions. He said the man had been stalking me."

Finnigan's face contorted in a grimace of near pain. "T'Muggle had been. We Legilimised him."

"So, what Malfoy said was true? I was in some danger?" Padma felt a throat clogging fear and struggled against nausea.

Finnigan would not meet her eyes. "You still are. We couldn't hold him on what he intended to do."

"Oh." Padma sank back in the uncomfortable chair. "I see."

"We'll set up MLE surveillance for you." Finnigan's next words were obviously practised. "We would expect you to exercise some caution, stay out of Muggle areas, stick to Magical mans of transportation, have wards set up on your flat and t'like."

"What of Mr. Malfoy?" Padma asked, unsure why she cared after his high-handed actions of the morning and his utter disregard for her feelings. "He did save me. Will he be charged with anything?"

Finnigan looked as if he swallowed a bite of lemon. "There will be no prosecution, but you two should have stayed. It would have made less paperwork."

Padma snarked, "Yes I should have considered your workload before I was abducted. So sorry."

&*&*&

Dibby mournfully packed what Lucius would need for his extended stay on the continent. Once done, Malfoy cast a shrinking and lightening charm on the ornate trunk and placed it in the pocket of his travelling robes. Lucius would not risk exposure to the Ministry and so opted for a hastily and illegally made Portkey. The elf clucked his tongue as he observed, "Master should wait before he goes. Mistress Doctor said she was going to explain to the traitorous Aurors. Master is no longer the bad Death Eater he was, Mistress Doctor knows this."

Lucius raised his cane, as if to strike the little beast, but only tapped the cringing figure on the shoulder. "I shall send for you when I am more settled, Dibby. Now, if you do not wish to have to iron your ears, you will desist in your useless nattering and allow me to leave."

"Master knows what Master must do, but Dibby will always be faithful." The house elf scraped once more before asking slyly, "Is there no one Master wishes to inform of his cowardly fleeing?"

"Soon it will be more than an ironed ear, Dibby." Lucius iterated. "You are ordered to watch Mistress Elspeth and my two grandsons until Master Draco returns. That will be all."

The elf's shoulders fell, then straightened as he drew a breath to speak. Lucius drew back his cane intending a well-placed blow at the elf's buttocks. "Must I treat you as I have in the past, Dibby, to receive your compliance?"

"No, Master." The elf's eyes filled with tears as his Master activated the Portkey and disappeared. Lucius was sorry about the manner in which they parted.


	4. Heart Problems

_One fortnight previously..._

On July tenth, Anno Domini 2010, Lucius Malfoy lost faith in himself.

_July 9, 2010_

Lucius' day began as it normally did during his time with the Muggle priest. He was up before dawn, preparing the day's offering to the addicted and downtrodden masses of the East End. At seven o’clock, he managed to grab his own meal of a sandwich and anaemic coffee, which was a better brew than he received in Azkaban, but not up to Malfoy standards by a long shot. He was used to the schedule after his months on probation and even thought he might miss it when he left.

Lucius picked up the novel he had started the night before which he found in the lost and found bin. The story was from a genre called Science Fiction by an American author, Frank Herbert. It was an interesting insight into the way Muggles viewed magic of a sort and practitioners of the magical arts. He felt a slight affinity with the Baron Harkonnen, a canny bastard who was trying to consolidate his power while clinging to an outmoded way of life. He was somewhat less taken by the Arakin worship of the Muad d'ib character, a young messiah who would save a planet by destroying the power structure of the universe's governing bodies. Messianic literary figures had never been a favourite of Lucius'. He had lived through two of the real thing, one Dark, one Light, and both children in their own way. Even so, Lucius was captivated by the story.

Colin Paisley popped his head into the office as Lucius marked his place with a blue hair-ribbon, also from the lost and found. "Mr. Malfoy, the last of the breakfast has been served. Did you want us to set up for lunch? "

"No, just clean your area and go home. I have some inventory to do before we will be ready for set-up, and I know your schedule is quite tight today." Lucius lifted the stained volunteer schedule. "Mr. Paisley, I was under the impression you would be serving tomorrow."

"No, I can't. It's my fourth year sober and my wife's throwing a party for me in the afternoon. I asked one of the blokes from Wednesdays to work for me." Colin beamed at the wizard. "Alice wanted me to ask you to come. She said there'll be a few women there from her office."

Lucius masterfully hid a grimace behind the schedule. Since Draco's wedding, the Paisley boy had worked at the shelter two days a week to give back to the community that he had stolen from while he was in the throes of his heroin addiction. In addition to that bit of community service, young Paisley took it upon himself to set Lucius up with the most eligible females he knew. The boy had a distinct air of a crusader about him when he dealt with the elder Malfoy.

"I shall see what I can do, Mr. Paisley." Lucius gave a wan smile before levering from behind the rickety office desk. Once Malfoy’s shift was over at lunch, he had business on Diagon Alley. Lucius shuddered at the thought that he had joined the ranks of the employed who worked in shifts, no less. The end was near for that little disgrace; thank the gods for that. Lucius was in the process of consolidating his considerable holdings from various banking institutions, both wizarding and Muggle, from around the world and would see a return of most, if not all of the Galleons he had lost to the Dark Lord and then later the Ministry. His trip to Diagon Alley would end his fiscal paucity and usher him back into more civilised circles.

&*&*&

Padma went to work by the St. Mungo's Floo connection, something she normally did not do, instead preferring to take a leisurely stroll from her flat just over a mile away. The Chief of the MICU had Patronus-called just that morning, two hours after her shift ended, to tell her she was needed as soon as possible. There had been an accident at a fireworks plant just outside Chelsea near a primary school for magical children that had been holding holiday classes for students who were going to Hogwarts in the next year. St. Mungo’s MICU was taking the wizarding victims that were near the epicentre of the blast. There were nine physicians on staff and all had been called. Padma had dragged herself out of bed after only an hour of sleep, slammed down a Pepper-up Potion, and had been out the door in less than fifteen minutes. Tomas headed to his surgery to deal with the less urgent care. Both Healer and Doctor did not look to see their flat before midnight.

Padma entered the MICU and was immediately assaulted by the smell of cooked flesh and the sounds of ragged screams, both overlaying the more sterile scents and mechanical sounds of the unit. She shrugged into her lab coat, twisted her hair under a cap and scrubbed in, vying for the limited space around the basins spaced out around the room. Pradesh the Prat was beside her at the sink, his mind-numbing prattle unwelcome in the vigilant state Padma currently tried to sustain with her limited amount of sleep. He leaned close to her, his minty breath touching her neck, wet and uninvited, his white teeth flashing in the corner of her vision. “Hello, darling. Will you be up for dinner after work?”

Padma refrained from a sharp comment as she turned to another physician, a thirty-something doctor with whom Padma had worked before. “How many have been transferred so far?”

“Right now, fifteen: four adults and eleven children. The explosion occurred right after the morning bell rang for class. Two outbuildings were blown up.” The doctor’s response was terse. “You’ll want to cast an Anti-viral Barrier Spell; there’s been an outbreak of Dragon Pox at the school.”

Padma finished cleansing and cast the necessary spells. It was shaping up into a grim day. Two more patients were being Floo’ed in as Padma took her first chart and began directing her team of Healers and mediwitches to the triage area.

&*&*&

Lucius watched the TV as he ate his meagre lunch of soup and an orange, shortly after the noon hour. Lucius finished his orange and sat back in the squeaky chair attempting to ignore the content. The attractive television Muggle announced breaking news. Malfoy surmised it would be another pointless terrorist scare or news of the latest Royal scandal. Bored with the entire situation, Lucius picked up his novel again paying half attention to the show as he wandered further into the novel. The brutal Harkonnen had just set up his rule on the desert planet Arakis and was now under siege by the strange, blue-eyed, worm-worshipping natives. He registered the announcer speaking antiseptically over a scene of destruction and his eyes darted to the screen. He registered figures in wizarding robes emblazoned with the Aurory's and MLE’s insignia working in the rubble of what looked like a school. He set aside the book, but the announcer went to a commercial break. Lucius thought ironically that even tragedy had become a commercial venture. Ian entered at that moment to discuss the remainder of the day’s workload, and Lucius forgot all about the disaster and the Ministry’s involvement.

&*&*&

Padma worked non-stop from a little after eight that morning and at noon, her energy flagged. She groaned as three more children Floo’ed through with the heavily begrimed rescue workers and a bleeding, but conscious, Millicent Bulstrode. That brought the total of the critically injured to thirty-six: five adults and thirty one ten and eleven-year-old children. Padma had lost two patients already, a young teacher and an impossibly small boy, their lungs too damaged to sustain them while the standard Pulmonary Rejuvina Potions took effect. Three more children’s vitals were low, and as Padma rubbed her strained back, the distinctive code-blue alarm, known to physicians and Healers alike, sounded from behind a curtained station.

Padma donned another paper smock and began plodding to the area. The young physician from that morning waved her off. “You need a break. Go grab a quick bite to eat and a nap. I‘ll send one of the mediwitches to wake you.”

She decided to check on the most pressing of her cases before taking his advice. She entered the cubicle of a young Nigerian Muggle-born girl. Her parents sat beside her bed, numbly watching the Muggle medical instruments as they monitored the girl's vitals. The mother held the girl's pinkie-finger, the only part of the girl's arms and hands not swathed in burn bandage and ointments. The father acknowledged Padma's presence with a quick upward glance and then returned to his whispered prayers, his lips moving as he did. Padma looked at the chart to give herself something to do. The girl moaned and her black eyes opened to slits as she mumbled something in a language Padma did not know. The mother answered in the same soft glottals and the girl quieted.

Padma cast a diagnostic spell, thankful for the efforts of the Muggle Liaison Office to condition Muggle-borns’ families to this world. The man interrupted, “What are you doing?"

"I'm seeing how much of her own magic she’s expended to combat the burns,” Padma said absently, worried that the girl's magical core was being depleted at a greater rate than could be combated. The girl might end up a Squib or dead if Padma could not stop the drain. The doctor silently Accio'ed Calming and Sleeping Draughts and administered them before leaving the parents to their vigil.

&*&*&

Lucius entered Gringotts after a less than pleasant trip through Diagon Alley. Even with the recent revelations about his role during the war, the Malfoy name, which had once commanded respect and perhaps a little fear, was diminished. Or, perhaps it was Lucius who was diminished judging by the whispers, stares and outright jeers directed his way. He wore the only wizarding robes he owned, the ones that Mona Lisa purchased for his trial: grey, conservative and cheaply made. It was no matter; once he transferred his funds and was free to move about at will, he would adjourn to Madam Malkin’s to purchase a new wardrobe. The shoddy togs would do for this outing.

A blonde witch with a rather ample décolletage and coltish legs, both features highlighted by her abbreviated robes, ushered Lucius to a richly decorated office He surmised from the witch’s appearance that he would be dealing with a human rather than one of the goblins, which was just as well. Malfoy Manor had been the site of many atrocities against the creatures. Lucius had tried unsuccessfully to reason with the Dark Lord about the use of the goblins to their cause, and received brutal punishment for his interference. He would rather not face their censure at this point in his parole. It could be disastrous to his plans.

A young man entered the office, his shoulder-length, ginger hair slicked back into a truncated queue, his robes a wizarding version of a Muggle business suit. They discussed the matter at hand, and Lucius quickly secured his funds in the family vault. As the meeting concluded, Lucius commanded, "I should like a draft drawn on my account in the amount of two-hundred thousand galleons, and I would like it directed to my sister-in-law's vault, Mrs. Andromeda Black."

"Are you certain, sir?" The man's eyebrows lifted. "Gringotts will be happy do so, but... such a large amount? You are still recovering from your recent incarce... uh…"

Lucius lifted an autocratic brow, “Did I stammer or in any way make myself less than utterly clear?"

"N-No, sir." The young man withdrew a parchment from his desk and wrote the draft with a quick flourish. "Would you like the bank to owl Mrs. Tonks, sir?"

Lucius inclined his head graciously. "That will not be necessary. I wish the gift to remain anonymous."

He exited the room, passed the rather amply endowed secretary, and made his way to the door leading to the exterior, only to be stopped by a familiar goblin. "Mr. Malfoy."

The creature clasped his attenuated fingers loosely over his belly, his face drawn in lines of hauteur. Lucius frowned but recovered quickly as he bowed slightly. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Mr...?"

"You are correct, Mr. Malfoy, pleasure had nothing to do with our encounter." The goblin gave an approximation of a laugh. "My name is Griphook, since your memory is faulty. I am surprised you could forget my name with the amount of pain you took trying to protect me."

The goblin's sly eyes winked at Lucius in the dim braziers of the bank. Griphook stepped forward, coming to Malfoy's knee. "Certain interested parties took an interest in the solvency of your vault. You might find your financial situation much less dire than it might have been."

"My financial situation was never dire,” Lucius retorted, thrown by the familiarity of the creature.

"Yes, foreign goblins have heard your story. I'm sure that played a large part in your recovery,” Griphook said and then turned from the wizard. "Good day, Mr. Malfoy. My debt to you is paid."

Lucius bowed fully and swept from the bank, grateful for the creature’s assistance.

&*&*&

 

Padma lost five patients. They had never really had a chance if she were honest. The young African girl had been the last. She died an hour before Padma’s shift ended. The doctor finished her workday in a numbed state of fatigue. She Floo'ed home and sank to the couch, giving in to the tears that had threatened all day. Her professional barriers were breached and her heart was broken.

She sank into exhausted sleep where she sat on the couch and dreamed of the girl and her parents.

&*&*&

_July 10, 2010_

Lucius was forced to work the serving line because young Paisley’s replacement did not show up for work that morning. He felt ridiculous with his hair in a net and his hands in sweat-producing, plastic gloves. Horrid Muggle inventions. It would have been so much simpler to cast an impervious charm and be done with it, but Ian explained patiently that the health officials who occasionally inspected the shelter might not understand the usefulness of magic in preventing bacterial and viral infections.

Lucius served one of the blue-haired, old ladies that frequented the soup kitchen, the ones that preferred feeding their housefuls of cats to purchasing food for their own consumption. He would never understand the dependence these lonely old women had on furry vermin. They lavished such love on the creatures and when they died, alone in their little flats, the animals ended up devouring their corpse until someone noticed the stench. Some gratitude. Lucius thought he might understand the need for companionship, but he did prefer less fur and more leg and breast.

The previous evening, he had dreamed of the lovely little twit in Gringotts but somehow confused her with Mona Lisa midway through the rather erotic action. He awoke to an embarrassing mess he had not made since his teens. Lucius thought he might have to seek some company in the exclusive bordello he had visited occasionally when he was a bachelor. A metamorphmagus who hired only those who could learn the skill she possessed ran it. She explained to Lucius that it cut down on her overhead. She could hire fewer professionals while maintaining a well-stocked array of looks for those who had a preference. Thus, any girl Lucius purchased time with would be exactly to his taste, and he would no longer have the disturbing dreams of petal-soft, cinnamon lips on his skin, and round, brown thighs around his waist. He shifted his attention to the next person in line, aware of the painful, throbbing problem he now possessed. He would take himself in hand later.

Later, after the last person was seated, Ian (Lucius did not remember when the man had become less of an object of ridicule to him and more of a friend, but he had) was extolling in his daily sermon the virtues of sobriety and sacrifice while the kitchen staff cleaned. He noticed a female figure entering from the street entrance, and turned slightly to see if he might find one last sandwich to give the waif when he felt a hard slap across his face.

He reeled back, wishing he had his wand, and turned to see Andromeda Tonks' angry countenance. He greeted her cordially, "Andromeda, it has been too long."

"My grandson and I don't need your blood money." She threw a bank draft at him, the parchment fluttering to his feet.

"I haven't any idea of what you are speaking, Mrs Tonks. Please enlighten me." Lucius lifted a brow in the same autocratic way he had done to the banker the day before. He goaded, "Do hurry, as you can see, I am quite busy."

She drew back her hand and slapped him again, this time drawing blood with her wedding band and engagement ring. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she beat at his shoulders and face, each blow punctuated by the choking sounds of her grief. Lucius stood still, letting her take her time with the abuse. He would not stop her from her punishment. He could have prevented the death of her husband even if her daughter's was beyond his control.

Several inmates of the facility stood to better see his arrogant arse beaten, but none cared to help. Andromeda's wrath continued until Ian dragged her away from Lucius. "Malfoy, go fix your lip in the rectory and put some ice on your jaw or you'll bruise."

Lucius bowed stiffly as he made his exit while Ian held the sobbing form of Andromeda Tonks. He wondered at his lack of response. Had it been a few years earlier, he would have had no problem destroying her. Now, his heart just wasn't in it.


	5. Of House Elves and Plots

Lucius strode through the crowded market, listening to the familiar cadence of buyer and seller. The Greece of his childhood had been replaced by this Euro-nonsense and the wizarding community on the Isle of Delos had been affected adversely. He had thought to capture some sense of purpose as he revisited his father's villa in the Cyclades, but had instead been insulted by the changes to the area. No doubt, both Muggle and wizarding Greece were much better off, but he missed the fire and verve of the past. Economic security had wrought insipidity for the entire nation.

Lucius turned away from the market, and headed toward the Apparation point. He planned to spend two months here, readying the villa for sale, and then move on to other Malfoy holdings. The vineyard in Tuscany would be next, then the _palais_ in France. Only then could he face the sale of Malfoy Manor, the place of his greatest shame and horror. He hoped Abraxas was spinning in his grave with the thought of the seven-hundred year-old family seat being sold. Lucius decided to settle in Capri. The Roman-era villa there was his mother's and had no Dark memories for him. His father thought the area overrun by _nouveau riche_ Muggles and so never visited it after Mother's death.

Lucius thought of informing his only Muggle friend of his whereabouts, but though Ian was a friend, Malfoy was ashamed of the exigency of his exit from London.

Unbidden, another face from his sojourn in London came to mind, one with almond-shaped eyes and cinnamon-skinned sensuality. Lucius turned his mind from the lovely Doctor Patil, with a great effort of will. She was Draco's age and therefore off limits. He would not lust after a mere girl, even if that girl was almost thirty-years old. He had badly frightened her in their last meeting. He meant to. She was too trusting by far, and too damned young for him. He did not need a romantic encumbrance again. At least not now. He had already been burdened with a wife who hated him. He did not want a fearful young woman in his bed. It would lead to more heartbreak and Lucius really did not have much more heart to spare.

Lucius realised he had stopped in the middle of the street, drawing stares from surrounding shopkeepers and pedestrians alike. He took a trick from Snape's book and stalked to the Apparition point with billowing robes and resplendent scowl, all to disguise to him how much he wanted his untouchable doctor.

&*&*&

Padma's Port Key had taken her to a small hostel on the outskirts of the only wizarding village in Greece. It was appropriate that she started her journey at the birthplace of Apollo, sun god, and patron of the medical arts. She would spend some time at the ancient Muggle sites to be sure, but she would also go to the new temple of Apollo, built in the early part of the twentieth century after a devastating earthquake destroyed the original. That temple had been occupied since the birth of the greatest Greek Wizard, some three thousand years ago: Apollo Asclepius, Healer and teacher.

Padma let the bell-elf take her bags to her room. It was still early afternoon, and most businesses were still closed, but Padma could do without the bustle and hurry of the markets while she gathered her wits. Port key was her least favourite way of travel because it always made her slightly nauseous. She strolled the quiet back streets, admiring the architecture of the area along with the brightly painted surfaces to take her mind off her queasiness. Somehow,as she walked through the twisting streaes, at least this part of Greece reminded her of the summer holiday she had spent in Iran between the year she finished Muggle uni, and the start of her one year Healing apprenticeship that was also concurrent with her medical internship. That was also the season her sister had begun her affair with Justin. If she was honest with herself it stung more that it had taken years for Padma to discover their perfidy. Her heart had never been compromised by her tepid relationship with the aristocratic Hufflepuff nor by her less than trustworthy sister. 

Padma had loved Justin, in the way one is fond of their first lover. The pain of his betrayal had been less while Lucius Malfoy was there to make her feel attractive and wanted, but the loss of the elder Malfoy's attention had sent her, once again into the mild depression that had plagued her ever since the end of her first affair. Padma moved her mind away from the pain of the thought, as she entered the now bustling market. She was here to enjoy herself, not relive her past.

She window shopped, but found nothing she could not do without. Once she thought she saw a strange house elf following her, but when she looked at the spot she had seen it last, it had disappeared. Padma finally settled on buying a sheer Egyptian cotton Robe set with a matching cloak. It would be a perfect gift for _Maa,_. She found a book, in Latin, on Potions for _Bapa_ , and settled on a set of cuff links for Tomas. She would purchase something for the baby later. Parvati and Justin would receive one of the touristy things from the kiosk at the Port Key area.

Once done with purchasing her obligatory gifts, she turned back toward the hostel suddenly weary. 

&*&*&

Lucius entered the now gutted library of the villa, remembering his most satisfying moment in the room. 

His father had hired a maid for the summer, a local girl who was Lucius' age. Her name was Katya. His father used the girl at night, while denying his seventeen-year-old son the same outlet. Lucius had spent his evenings listening to his father fuck the girl. Her breathless cries of pleasure had inflamed him beyond madness. Lucius had spent the first month of that particular holiday in a haze of lust so strong that even his own ministrations had failed to ease his discomfort. 

Then, on a day that his father had been called back to London to take care of some urgent Ministry business, Katya had discovered Lucius in that very library, wanking off yet again. She had taken his virginity on the spot and given Lucius the education his father would never allow. He had been grateful and half in love with her that afternoon. That was, until his father came home and paid her for her services to his son. Lucius had used her again, but never with the same care or feeling. His illusions had been shattered. Abraxas Malfoy, it seemed, owned him body and soul. 

With a wave of his wand, Lucius covered the ancient mosaic floors with tarps and stripped to his bare chest. He had found he enjoyed the slapping of paint on surfaces. It was no artistic endeavour for him, to be sure, but after spending six months serving in Ian's kitchens, he missed the sheer mindless physicality of Muggle labour. Painting gave him an outlet for his energy that magic never would. 

While he painted, he practiced his speech, still slightly altered after his stroke over nine months ago. He made the nonsense sounds Mona Lisa had taught him, moving his lips in the exaggerated way she showed him. He could feel his facial muscles beginning to work properly the more he did them. He moved to elocution next, practicing the words on which his tongue still stumbled, ironically mostly ones beginning with the letter S. He had spent years as a servant of the Dark Lord, a man equally yet oppositely challenged by the same letter. However, Lucius' sound came out a truncated asperative and the Dark Lord's had been an extended susurrus. 

Lucius spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet practice saying words in a nonsense string, over and over. He felt foolish and was glad he had sent Dibby to the market for his evening repast of cheese, pita and wine. The elf was too observant for Lucius' tastes. 

&*&*&

Padma ate her dinner alone in her room not willing to suffer the company of other humans in the mental state in which she found herself. She picked up a novel; one Tomas had recommended but found the romantic nature of the story too much to bear. She wished she had taken her flatmate up on his offer to take holiday with her. At least they could have shopped and dished about the other tourists like two girls. As it was, Padma was looking at long, boring days on the rock beach and long hot nights under the squeaking ceiling fan of her room. She had chosen Delos in the wrong season. The summer tourists from the States had already gone back to resume their jobs or schooling. The Northern European tourists would not be here until Yule, and even the ever-present Japanese sightseers with their guided tours and incessant snap taking were away. 

Padma sighed, willing anyone to be on the island beside the contemptuous locals and the odd Muggle. She closed the book with a snap. It would do her no good to sit in her room and moon about what she wanted. She would just make her own fun. She was in Greece after all, land of yearlong street festivals and all night discotheques if she could not find a dance partner, she could always dance by herself if she drank enough ouzo. With that resolved, she slipped into her best green, knit shell, a matching pair of Capri's, embroidered at the hem and up one side, and her gold sandals. She considered her hair, which at the moment fell in raven-black waves down to her hips. She decided to leave it, but put small bits of rhinestone hair jewelery in it to catch the light in winking glints. Next, she applied the soft-carmine lip-rouge she preferred and added just a hint of colour to her cheeks. Kohl came last to her slanting, almond-shaped eyes. Once done, Padma Shrank her room key and her wallet and put it in her pocket before exiting the room for the nightlife she knew must await her. 

Fuck all if she was not going to pick up a man tonight and shag Lucius Malfoy out of her system. 

&*&*&

Lucius relaxed on the patio adjacent to the master suite of the villa. His father had been the last occupant of the room, and his presence hung like a dour painting in the air. Lucius, upon his arrival, had stripped the room of all the memories of his father. Down came the heavy tapestries of bloody stag hunts. Portraits of long-dead ancestors were relegated to the attic and his father's desk, the sight of many of Lucius' most painful punishments, was sold to a second-hand shop after Lucius removed the wards and traps Abraxas Malfoy had placed on it. His father was very thorough, and that particular job had taken two days. Lucius found an antique dealer to haul away the rest of the furniture in the house. He was glad to be rid of the heavy, ornately carved headboard. Lucius had been strapped at the side of that bed many times and for many offences. The idea of sleeping in the presence of that particular furniture daunted him. 

He bought a small, modern futon that served as both bed and divan and slept well on it. He did not plan to refurnish the villa before he sold it. 

Lucius had painted the room a soft white. It had taken two coats to cover the steely grey his father had preferred. He replaced the heavy wooden shutters with light, Roman shades and slept with the windows open to the night-sea air. Dibby was responsible for the major structural repairs to the rotting wooden floor in the kitchens and the entryway, but Lucius had hired a Magetecht to refurbish the ancient mosaic floors and strengthen the equally ancient walls. 

He stirred from his thoughts when he heard the heavy beat of the local discotheque's house music begin. A quick _Tempus_ charm told Lucius it was eleven, just the start of the evening for young people. He remembered taking Snape to his first nightclub. The younger boy had been diffident and cool which drove the local girls wild with the desire to crack his aloof shell. The idiot did not even know he held appeal for the opposite sex and had spent the evening scribbling ideas for potions on the paper serviettes of the club. Lucius chuckled softly. He hoped Snape had finally gotten over the Mudblood. He deserved so much more than what he had ever given himself. 

Dibby entered the area, bowing as he always did. Lucius wished again that the Granger-Weasley chit had taken the elf off his hands. Lucius really could not abide the creatures, even though this one seemed a little better than most. "What is it, Dibby?" 

"Master," the elf began, wringing his hands and casting mournful glances at the wizard. "Dibby has heard there is an important pureblood party at the nightsong spot. Master should go. There will be gains to be had by Master."

Lucius did not trust the sly creature, but knew if he were going to reclaim the Malfoy status he would need to be seen. "Very well. Prepare my bath and lay out my blue robes. Not the velvet. It's too hot, the linen." 

Lucius downed his fourth glass of whisky for the evening, and started on a fifth. If he had to endure the company of other humans, he may as well have a nice buzz while doing it. Maybe he would get lucky and shag himself senseless without having to imagine Mona Lisa while he did it. 

&*&*&

Padma slammed back her third ouzo of the evening. A German wizard on an archaeological dig in conjunction with a Muggle one for the al-ga¡maaʿa al-almeniyyabil-Q'hara, or less pretentiously, the German University in Cairo was attempting to chat her up. Padma was tipsy enough to find the hacking and spitting of both languages highly amusing. She was not tipsy enough to find it attractive that he now was whispering guttural Arabic endearments in her ear. Her hair was becoming wet with his efforts to seduce her. A young Greek boy, all of fifteen, took her by her hand and whisked her onto the dance floor. 

They gyrated to the rhythm until Padma became dizzy. The boy with his glowing skin and dark eyes laughed and pulled her against him, clutching her closely to his hard body. Padma fitted into his arms well. If he weren't so young... She broke away. Paedophilia was not her style.

Another wizard, tall and broad, slipped behind her. His pale hand held a glass of Firewhisky, not what the German would choose to drink. Padma took the tumbler laughingly from his hand and downed it. He pinned her to him with his large, golden-haired arms and ordered another. The boy, now pouting prettily, turned to another girl on the dance floor and Padma began a slow, hip twitching dance with her new partner. He nuzzled her neck, an effort for him since she was obviously so much shorter than he was. She leaned into his broad shoulders, her hair tickling his throat and lips. He continued his assault as the drinks appeared. Padma downed it, now drunk to the point of seeing do

The man hefted her against him, his face in shadow as he Disapparated them away from the loudness and the lights. 

&*&*&

She remembered his hands on her breasts, his mouth hot on her labia and clit as it delved further into her. She remembered squirming wildly as he induced her to orgasm with his talented mouth and twitching fingers. She remembered the clean and musky taste of his cock as she swallowed him greedily and then the wrenching sensation of his withdrawal as he drunkenly clambered over her body, his skin was made of moon and shadow, a silver sheet of hair cascaded over her body as he entered her. His thrusts were masterful and climax inducing. She remembered falling asleep in a haze of pleasure so sweet that it filled the aching void that the loss of Lucius Malfoy's diffident attention had made. She remembered all that, but not his face. She awoke drunkenly when the man's arm gathered her closer in his sleep, his fingers twitching reflexively over her breast, his cock semi-erect. She fell asleep again, too drunk to move under her own power and see the mystery man. She would look at him tomorrow morning. 

&*&*&

Dibby knew what it took to be a good house elf. Loyalty was first. Dibby possessed that. Then came cunning. With a Master like Master Malfoy, Dibby knew he had learned it. 

He reclined in his nest of tea towels and cast of linens behind the ancient wood burning furnaces of the caldarium. Master had finally found Mistress Doctor Patil and they were doing the wizardy thing to make them bond. Dibby hoped for more, but was happy with the night's work. Master had been sad without his old Mistress. She had not been nice to Dibby, but she made Master happy and that was what counted. When he saw Mistress Doctor Patil, she had been kind to Dibby and happy/sad about Master. House elf magic let Dibby know where Mistress Doctor would be, and house elf magic had made Master go to Delos before he sold the villa. 

Dibby heard the creaking of the futon as Master made Mistress Doctor happy and Mistress Doctor did the same for him. 

Dibby hated lying to Master, but it had not been a outright lie. Mistress Doctor was important to Master, even if he did not acknowledge it. 

Dibby decided to write the castrated Muggle, the one who served the Bloody Gods to see what else needed to be done to make Mistress Doctor and Master see what Dibby could so clearly. Dibby wasn't so good with writing, but he would manage if it meant having a family with children to serve again. 

Dibby closed his eyes and dreamt of serving little Masters and Mistresses with dark hair and grey eyes, his feet run ragged by their demands. It was the best dream Dibby had had in twelve years. 


	6. Hugh Hefner's Guide to Sexual Etiquette and Post-coital Manners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was red-moused by Jilliane. Any mistakes remaining are my own.

Lucius rolled to the side of the bed, away from the body he currently had shared it with. He didn't remember much of the evening or how the dark-skinned nude woman who currently had her head underneath a pillow wound up shagging him at his villa. Not that he was particularly upset about her presence from what he could see of her body, which was at the moment, a shapely leg, a delectably rounded belly and rather fulsome, brown-nippled breasts. He felt almost as if he had been Confunded, though. His memory of the evening was vague and slightly cloudy after he entered the club. He vowed solemnly that he would drink less from now on.

He knew, from the erotic periodicals that he had acquired from the helpful junkie at the shelter that it just was not done to bring a woman to one's flat if one were engaged in a one night stand, (in which Lucius was fairly sure he had engaged the previous evening.) The former husband of Narcissa Malfoy would not know from practice, as this was a singular experience for him. He was a stickler for social protocol and so he would follow the rules he read only months before. He wondered if things were different, if they were in some way connected, if she might consent to stay for breakfast. The periodical he read said that it was _de rigueur_ for the parties involved in this type of social interaction to part amicably and too hastily for his tastes. He did miss a long morning shag followed by a longer afternoon one. Narcissa had not always been up for it, but perhaps this chit might be. He just did not want this experience to be a one off, since he could remember so little of the initial round of action. If he were honest, however, he could admit that he was growing tired of his own rather limited company.

He thought things had gone well sexually, but was not sure. Narcissa had been his last sexual partner and that had been six months ago. He hoped he had not gone off half-cocked, so to speak. Perhaps the alcohol had taken care of that particular worry. It did tend to retard reactions to certain physical stimuli.

He stretched, feeling the pull in his groin and leg muscles as his head pounded from the sudden movement. As if on cue, Dibby padded into the room and gave him a hangover cure. Lucius drank it down, sighing in relief as the gnawing pain behind his eyes and the ever so slight nausea diminished immediately. He indicated in a hushed voice that the creature was to give the same potion to his paramour once she awoke. Dibby bowed in that servile manner that Lucius so despised these days and retreated, a strange smile on his grey face. The lord of the manor narrowed his eyes but said nothing to the sly servant. He simply could not abide the creatures.

Lucius smacked his mouth, grimacing at the taste of the film over his teeth. Even he could smell his breath. A quick assessment of the rest of his personal hygiene left him less than impressed. He smelled of sweat, sex and a light floral perfume that niggled at his memory. It was a scent he had come across before, a flowery odour with a hint of cinnamon. Not a common fragrance, but certainly not one of the expensive creations that Narcissa went to Paris to fetch, at great cost he might add. He decided the fragrance was appealing but he really needed a long soak in the caldarium to wash off the less than pleasant odours emanating from his person.

Lucius padded to the bathroom and began his morning ablutions, unaware of the eyes that followed his progress happily, as he did so.

&*&*&

Padma woke to the alarmingly close face of a wizened house elf. She groaned, as it seemed like a knife lanced through her head and lodged somewhere behind her eyeballs. She did not remember calling for room service.

"Master wants you to have this Hangover Cure." The elf handed her a phial, saying with a sly wink, "Drink, Mistress Doctor Patil."

_Bloody hell._

She had heard that phrase only a fortnight before as she juddered from fear in the flat owned by Lucius-Sodding-Malfoy. Padma looked blearily around the room glad that she had worn her contacts last night. The walls were white, not papered. Stucco not plaster and lath. Light and airy, not institutional and bland.

_Shite._

She remembered hands and a mouth and crying out with an invasion of moon pale skin to a figure with platinum hair, silver eyes and the face of a fallen angel...

_Fuckohfuckohfuckohfuck..._

She thought dryly over her rising panic, _Yes, that seems to be what you did with him._

Padma took the phial with shaking hands and downed it with a swift jerk of her head. Once she felt almost human, she asked conversationally, "What is your Master's name?"

The door to what Padma assumed was a bathroom opened and she scrambled to pull the not so pristine white sheet around her nude body somewhat stupidly, given what she remembered of last night. Lucius Malfoy's sardonic voice said from the entryway, "My name is Lucius Malfoy, Mona Lisa; I hope I am not that forgettable."

Padma wanted to run screaming from the room but realised she was still quite bare. She then decided she wanted to slap his smirking face. Overlaying both reactions was the desire to get him back in bed and let him shag her to insensibility. She opted for the most socially acceptable thing to do, given the state of their relationship. "Hullo."

Then Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater, pureblood elitist and friend to Ministers of Magic did something that caught her entirely off guard. He blushed. Prettily, the bastard. "Your... ah, sheet... is..."

Padma followed his steel gaze only to see that, while the top portion of her body was adequately covered, the sheet had risen while she moved to reach for the potion leaving a good amount of her mons veneris exposed for all the world to see. That the world at the moment consisted of Lucius-Bloody-Malfoy was more embarrassing than the time she had been thrown into the Lake at Hogwarts. She had run out of bras that fateful morning and the rest was Ravenclaw history as the true state of her lack was exposed to the entire school once she rose from the water with a transparent blouse. Padma pulled the sheet down, heat creeping up her neck as she retorted, "I seem to remember you examining that portion of my anatomy quite well last night. I hope it didn't embarrass you then."

Malfoy gave her a narrow-eyed look and with a jerk of his head said, "The _en suite_ is yours, if you'd care to freshen up before you leave."

He strolled out of the bathing area, and dropped the towel, his back to her. Gods the man was delectable. Even with the silver scars that criss-crossed his buttocks and thighs, his arse was magnificent. Padma's mouth went desert dry as he yanked on his plain, white y-fronts and adjusted himself with his back to her. She would have figured him for more the silk boxer type. As he donned worn Muggle jeans, he slanted an unreadable look at her over his shoulder. She jerked as she heard the zip pulled up, the muscles in his back bunching nicely with the motion. Just as he reached into the armoire for a shirt, it struck her what he just said. "Wait, you want me to leave... We shag and... then... You... Just... Dismiss... Me?"

Padma felt tears spring into her eyes as she hastily grabbed her clothes, jerking them on while still trying to clutch the sheet to her body. She should have known that... Death Eater was just getting a leg over.

_Isn't that what you were doing? If it hadn't been your crush, wouldn't you be trying to get out as fast as possible? Hypocrite, much?_ Padma's inner voice asked sardonically. She said as she slammed out of the room onto the balcony, "Shut up!"

Padma Disapparated from the balcony just as Malfoy reached for her, his expression confused and bleak. Bastard, he was probably as good an actor as Snape had been. Never trust a spy. Or a Death Eater. Or a Death Eater turned spy.

As the gloom of her hostel room closed about her Padma gathered clean clothes to change into once she washed the night's activities from her body in the bathroom down the hall. Hopefully there wouldn't be a line. Her mind was blank except for the mantra that had begun after Justin and Parvati married.

_Never have hope that anything will change in your life... It never will... Never have hope... It never will change..._

When she returned, Padma warded her room with several that she had learned from Seamus Finnegan during her stay in London after her attack. That should do to keep the smirking Malfoy out. Not that he would want anything to do with her now that he'd had her.

_Never have hope..._

She groaned and fell onto the hard bed, willing her mind to shut off.

_Never hope..._

&*&*&

 

Lucius' first reaction to the chit's exit was ire, followed closely by regret, remorse and embarrassment. As well it should be for the way Lucius had handled Mona Lisa. Why had he thought a periodical designed for use with one of the baser male instincts had been an appropriate venue for etiquette lessons even if the lessons were on sexual relations?

_Well, you bollixed that up, old man._ Lucius could almost hear Severus' dry tones tell him, he could almost see that little superior sneer on the half-blood's face. As if the dark man would have given two shakes of a wand if the witch were angry or not. He most likely would have had Lucius laughing at his dry assessment of what a fool Malfoy had been. Gods, he missed him.

Lucius felt old-- from the tip of his now grey head to the sagging skin on his still-toned stomach to his thickening toenails. What young woman wanted a man with talons on his toes and hair beginning to grow in strange spots like his ears, for instance? What was he thinking going to a discothèque anyway? He was a grandfather. Not that being a grandfather as a wizard would make him old, but the girl he had taken home was his son's age. If he did not stop himself, he might look as foolish as Narcissa with her well-kept, boy lovers.

"Dibby!" Lucius bellowed, most disturbed by the events of the last moments. He had never been told to shut up as if he were a child. He took a breath to yell again, his ire rising at the creature by the second, when the elf popped into Lucius' presence.

"Master called?" The house elf bowed, but without any of the subservience Lucius had hated before. The elf's ears were back against his body, not drooping, as they normally would be. The creature was... miffed?

Lucius suddenly suspected the house elf knew more about last evening's events than he would ever tell. "Purchase a bouquet of a dozen... No, two dozen white tulips and send them to the Doctor's place of residence."

"Perhaps Master should write sorry words for his bad acts." The elf's statement was almost accusatory. Lucius levelled a soft blow with the flat of his hand to the creature's head, really more of a tap for his cheekiness than for the uncharacteristic show of emotion. Lucius was intrigued when the creature made no offer to iron his tongue or other such nonsense. The fact that he had not was an improvement in Lucius' mind.

The elf presented his master with a freshly cut quill as if to press the matter. Lucius lifted a brow, as if asking the creature to explain its bizarre behaviour before he _Accio'ed_ the thin vellum he preferred for his missives and wrote a short apology.

The elf took the note with a stiff bow, and with a sharp crack! he was gone.

Lucius decided he would finish his work on the villa, estimating he had at least a fortnight's worth, and remove himself from Mona Lisa's presence entirely. Perhaps he would go to Outer Mongolia. Surely, she would not suddenly decide to holiday there.

&*&*&

Dibby returned to the kitchen to put away the love-foods he had started preparing. They would last another day. He placed the beluga caviar and oysters back in the chill cabinet, along with the eggs broken for the omelette, and the milk for the bread. The fennel seed and almonds could stay as they were, in the dry cabinet. Dibby would ensure they were used.

Dibby had his work cut out for him if Master and Mistress Doctor Patil were to make little Masters and Mistresses for him. He cursed the Muggle that made those self-bonding dirty books. Dibby was almost mad enough at Master to neglect his daily dusting.

Had Master lost his mind when he lived with the castrated Muggle? If old, old Master were here... Dibby shivered. If old, old Master were here, Master Lucius would be dead. Old, old Master would have made sure Master Lucius did not change his stripes and betray the Rotten Lord half-blood. Old, old Master would have killed Master for his leniency with young Master Draco and his Muggle wife. Dibby did not know the Muggle wife, but he had heard from house elves at Hogwarts that she fought with Master Draco and Snake-killer Longbottom to free a useless fairy. Young Master Draco's wife was said to be very tragic and kind by all the Hogwarts house elves. Dibby thought when he did see her, he might approve of a wizard bonding with that Muggle. Old, old Master never would have allowed it.

Poor Master Lucius. Old, old Master had been very evil to him with his beatings, his bad-making words, and his coldnesses. Old, old Master had made Master Lucius take the Rotten Lord half-blood's mark. Old, old Master had made Master Lucius cry even when he was a man, with his beatings and his nasty tongue. Dibby thought Master Lucius deserved to be happy with Mistress Doctor Patil. She was a good witch who felt more for Master Lucius than even she knew.

Dibby read the note to Mistress Doctor Patil carefully, because human-squiggly words were not the way a proper house elf wrote. House elves communicated with runes and old power words. He read the squiggle-words and knew they were not right. Dibby would take the note to Wise Mother house elf who served Lady Aphrodite's priestesses. Wise Mother house elf would make the note right, and Dibby would soon have Master and Mistress Doctor back to wizardy bonding.

&*&*&

Padma had discovered the gift as she stepped out of the bathroom after her shower. The flowers, three dozen white tulips with sprays of jasmine and lavender and a sincere note of apology made her pause. The language was stilted, almost Victorian in its propriety, but Padma could sense the sincerity in the words.

She tucked the note into her skirt and picked up the tulips. She liked the way they looked, waxy and almost unreal and the heady odour of the other flowers was heavenly. The bouquet was nothing like the ones Panjit sent, so she kept a dozen tulips and all of the jasmine and lavender and sent the rest via bell-elf to the Temple of Apollo. It would be her first offering to the gods of the isle.

It was now four days later and she was now the recipient of a Hermes scarf, a set of antique bangles in twenty-four carat gold and a pair of diamond earrings. She would return them to Malfoy as soon as she could think about him without wanting to hex, jinx or otherwise curse him.

She ordered lunch in and read more of the book Tomas recommended. Once she was past the first chapter, the vampire story drew her. Of course, it was a little painful when she read about how much the vampire doubted his ability to love a woman so much younger than he was. Padma paused angrily huffing as she berated the vampire mentally. Stupid git. A holiday fling did not mean she, meaning the heroine of course, wanted a relationship. It did mean, however that the vampire could have at least given her breakfast and the option to share his bed... erm.. coffin once more. Or twice, maybe three times if his advanced age and pureblood... erm... vampire blood would allow it.

Git. She couldn't even read a book without Lucius-Bloody-Malfoy invading it. Padma decided since it was her holiday, she would go to the beach. She donned her bikini, the one that she could not get wet, according to the label. Sod it, if she wanted to soak in the Aegean, she would, let the thing shrink or bleed or whatever it would do when it got wet.

Padma set up her beach supplies, Muggle sunscreen so she would not get too black, a fluffy towel from the hostel, and her book, as depressing as it was. She found a seat not too far from the hostel but far enough away to avoid the other groups of late-coming holiday goers. Padma ordered a drink, non-alcoholic, and proceeded to get back into the world of the depressingly Malfoy-like vampire.

&*&*&

Four days after his horrible blunder with the lovely doctor, Lucius was frustrated beyond measure with the inefficiency of the entire Greek nation, EU or no EU. His magetecht had gone on holiday to Austria and would not be back for a fortnight. The marble tiles he had ordered from Italy were now at the bottom of the Mediterranean, and the paint he had special ordered for the kitchen was a putrid shade of puce rather than the Tuscan gold he had ordered. It was the last of the paint in the store and the clerk had apologetically claimed there would be no more until the shipment came next week. Lucius had resisted the urge to hex the young girl who imparted this news, even as he offered a large sum of Galleons to the manager of the store to expedite the delivery. The manager had declined with a sad look at the bag which Lucius extended, indicating that no amount of recompense would make the ship that carried the supplies faster.

He returned to the villa in high dudgeon and ordered Dibby to prepare his bath. The elf bowed and wrung its hands. "Master, Dibby is sorry, but the water in the villa is off. Dibby has called a wizard's helper to fix it, but he says the pipes is broken and not being able to be fixed until next week."

"Damn and blast!" Lucius said as he kicked a broken tile across the room. "Dibby make arrangements for me to stay at the Grand this evening. We shall be leaving Greece shortly."

&*&*&

Padma was surprised to see a small, round-bellied man approaching her on the beach. As he drew closer, she recognised him as the manager of the hostel. He mopped his brow as he approached with an over-large handkerchief. Padma marked her place in the book with her finger and raised her head politely. "Is there a problem?"

The man mournfully began reciting his list of woes with thickly accented English. Padma caught about half of what he was saying before she understood that the hostel was being closed until further notice. "We will, of course pay for your stay at the Grand for the rest of your holiday. However, since you are only one of two guests, we must close to fix the problems before the inspector returns. The water has gone out and the workman says it will take at least a month to fix it."

Or that is what she thought he said. He continued effusively, "We will lend you a bell-elf to get your things to the Grand. They have a suite for you."

Another mournful bout of hand wringing and brow mopping occurred before Padma could assure the poor man that his arrangements were sufficient. "Thank you, really."

&*&*&

Lucius retired to his suite after another frustrating experience in the New Greece. The Port Key off this damnable island was booked solid for the next fortnight. How, in Merlin's name, was that possible? Lucius considered then discarded the idea of making his own. Greek authorities frowned on the practice more than the Ministry did. The offence in this country was punished with prison, an experience Lucius preferred to avoid. He did not want a world tour of wizarding prisons, no matter how inconvenienced he was by the situation.

He sat on the bed, feeling useless. Perhaps he would adjourn to the bar... no, the dining room. He had sworn off drinking earlier in the week and he would stick to that. He had wine only now, and with meals not any other time. He supposed he would dress for dinner, as it was the Grand and not that little hovel by the market.

&*&*&

Padma entered the dining room, dressed in her second-best _salwar kameez_ that she had brought on her holiday. The tunic was pale-gold silk with embroidered and beaded detailing around the front placket. The loose trousers were a complimentary soft-brown silk and the heavily embroidered wrap faded from one colour to the next. The tones showed Padma's colouring to advantage. As she entered the room, she turned several male heads. The hostess seated her at a table in the middle of the room and she self-consciously took the seat.

She suffered through each course and turned aside several beverages when a familiar face appeared at her table.

"Dr. Patil, fancy you being here."

It was Panjit the prat who dragged the seat out opposite her and took it in his presumptuous way, and just entering the room was a familiar blond-haired git.

Padma groaned through a haze of frustration and embarrassment. It always happened to her. What had she done to merit this in her last life? As Tomas would say with his mincing tones and sharp nails flailing through the air in a parody of feminine glee, _Fabulous, darling, just fabulous! Now you’ve got two men to fight over you!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a play on: Debrett's New Guide to Etiquette and Modern Manners, John Morgan, 1996, 1999. A guide to etiquette in British society.


	7. Seduction Through the Art of Suffering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was red-moused by Jilliane. Any mistakes remaining are my own.

Padma did not know how it had happened; one moment she had been fighting off the humiliating attentions of Panjit the Prat and the next, Lucius Malfoy loomed large over her, his gaze proprietary. Now she sat at a table sandwiched between two men who were acting like dogs fighting over a bone. All she knew was that she was extremely uncomfortable between the two as they verbally feinted and jabbed at one another.

"So, Mr... Ah, _Prudish_ is it?" Lucius said with a quirk of his brow as Padma suppressed a sigh.

"It's Healer Pradesh, Mr. Malfoy...Forgive me if I'm wrong, my French is a little rusty, but doesn't mal foi mean 'bad faith?" Panjit countered. "I seem to remember you in some context. What could it be? Weren't you featured quite prominently in a Death Eater trial recently?"

"Why yes. But I don't enjoy speaking of my own heroism during that horrible war." Lucius' small smile told all within sight that he lied and quite adequately.

"Your modesty is truly admirable, I suppose." The Healer tapped his shapely lips with a manicured forefinger as if in thought about the matter. "Now, what was it you were going to ask?"

Lucius gave a frosty smile as his hand snaked over the back of Padma's chair, his thumb rubbing against her exposed neck. Pradesh countered with a hand to her knee, which she promptly slapped. Malfoy addressed her, "My dear, is an insect bothering you? Shall I squash it for you?"

Panjit placed his reddened hand on top of the table, shooting Padma a reproachful look before inclining his head to Malfoy. "Perhaps the presence of unsavoury elements is bothering her."

Lucius ran a long finger up her neck and into her hair. "Perhaps. Now tell me what brings you to Greece? Or is the stalking of young women your normal behaviour?"

Panjit the Prat's nostrils flared. "As I stated to Padma, her mother was rather unsettled by her daughter's attack and subsequent abduction by a former Death Eater and she asked me to keep her safe whist she was in Greece. It is what one does for one's intended."

"Intended..." Lucius gave an apologetic look to Padma, whose head was beginning to throb along with other parts of her body as Malfoy's long, blunt fingers worked magic on her heated skin. "Victim?"

Padma jerked away from Malfoy's grasp and stood her face heating as she drew looks of consternation and prurient interest from the surrounding patrons of the establishment. "I've had enough from both of you. You, Panjit, are not my intended anything. Do you understand that? My parents do not believe in arranged marriages, and even if they did, I don't. I will not date you. I will not sleep with you. I will not marry you. "

_...I do not like Panjit the Prat, I do not like him Sam I am._ The thought flitted through her mind and she suppressed a hysterical bubble of laughter.

Lucius sat back in his seat his superior smirk faltering as she turned to him. "And you... Do you think a few expensive baubles can forgive your boorish behaviour after we... you know! Well, it doesn't. It just makes it worse, as if you think I could be bought off like a-- a cheap whore."

Padma levelled a cool look at both men before turning from them, head held high as she marched resolutely from the dining room, very conscious of the shocked expressions of the other diners at her outburst. She could almost hear Tomas in her head as she passed the _maitre de's_ podium, _'You told them, now don't let them decide who the best man for you is.'_

&*&*&

It was Saturday night, and Tomas sat in front of the TV, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He shifted uncomfortably as he contemplated why he was alone on a Saturday night and not shagging some hot boy that caught his eye at the club. He shuddered as he realized he was even thinking of going to church tomorrow. Not that he would give confession, but well, he might be there; Seamus FinnIgan, the object of Tomas' obsession since before Padma had left on holiday.

Tomas covered his eyes willing the image of the Auror that had guarded them in the days before Padma's departure, away. The Goan normally did not like Irishmen-- they were too loud, clownish in their sad way, and well, Irish-- but something about Seamus had captured his all-too-ready imagination. Perhaps it was his almost grey eyes, or the tousled sandy-brown hair, or his jug-eared innocence... Tomas gave himself a mental shake and switched off the TV. Perhaps music might be a distraction. He found an oldies Muggle station on the wireless, one that was known for its sappy love-songs. The Beatle's sappiest love-song rang out over the tinny-sounding wireless, '...Love, love me do. You know I love you..."

Suddenly images of Finnigan in his Auror's robes, his expression thoughtful, sincere and innocent flooded Tomas' brain, leaving him with a feeling he thought he had expunged long ago from his emotional repertoire. Gods, Tomas realised with a start, _I have a crush on a heterosexual man, again._

_Again._

He thought he had learned his lesson the first painful time. His first serious crush had been in high school. He had gone to the Thomas Jefferson School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the states because his father was from there and wanted him to attend his _alma mater_. Tomas had found himself the odd-man out with his English accent, dark skin, and two years of Hogwarts education which put him well ahead of the curve. Only one boy had deigned to speak to him, he was a year older than Tomas and captain of the Quidditch team. Tomas worshipped the ground the older boy walked upon, revelled in the boy's attentions and dreamed of their first kiss. It had been a crushing blow to see that same boy necking with a girl later in the year. Tomas had spent the entire end of term battling jealousy and repugnance when he thought of him with her. The older boy's friendship had continued until Tomas finally revealed his feelings for him in a drunken confession in eleventh grade. That conversation had not gone well at all, and after, Tomas spent two lonely years as an outcast. He had sworn then and there to never fall for an inappropriate man again.

Tomas felt the tears of frustration behind his eyelids. Dammit. He had promised himself that he would never make the same mistake and here he was, stuck on a couch in his living room on a Saturday night, alone and pining for a man that he could never have. History had an odd way of repeating itself in a very ugly way and with definite drag queen vamping and histrionics.

Perhaps Mass was a good idea. At least there would be other people there as desperate as he was.

&*&*&

Lucius was at a loss. Narcissa had always welcomed flowers as apology for any crass behaviour on his part, and there had definitely been crass behaviour from both of parties over the years of their marriage. He excused himself to the gaping-jawed, smarmy git and followed his Mona Lisa through the lobby to the lifts. She stiffened as she sensed his presence behind her. He sketched a shaking bow as he drew abreast of her. "My abject apologies are offered, Doctor, for my boorish behaviour after our memorable experience... and for this evening."

Mona Lisa shot him a dark look of disdain. "I was under impression you didn't remember much of that night... I know I di..."

She cut off the thought as the doors to the lift opened before them. Lucius followed her into the conveyance. She sighed gustily, stirring the baby-fine fringe of black hair around her face. She pushed the button for the sixth floor as Lucius reached for the same button. She pulled back as if stung as he grazed her fingers with his. He felt the same sickened smile affix on his face as the one he had used in the last year of the Dark Lord's reign. The expression of emotion and nattering on about them had never been Lucius' forte. He was not even sure whether the girl...no, woman before him wanted any declarations from him after his rather glaring _faux pas_.

He opened his mouth to enquire about her state of mind when she asked, "May I just ask you one question?"

The lift jerked to a halt and the doors opened onto the rather blandly decorated hallway. Lucius proffered his arm. "Please, let us take this to a more private venue. My suite, perhaps?"

Padma nodded mutely but did not take his outstretched arm. The silence between the two was nearly deafening as they walked down the hall. Lucius was reminded of his long dreadful walks down a less decorously appointed hall in Azkaban as the same type of dread and humiliation filled his breast. He unwarded his door and opened it for her. He narrowed his eyes as he saw the scene that his entirely too presumptuous house elf had created. The Floo was lit with a cheery fire; candles dotted almost every flat surface, creating a soft, romantic glow. Sprigs of aromatic flowers lay around the room and rose petals had been placed in a meandering trail to the doors of the bedroom. Lucius scrambled to vanish the rose petals as Mona Lisa turned on him in outrage.

"You... pig!" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Lucius felt as if he had been slapped. "You knew I was here and you expected a repeat of my drunken mistake?"

"Mistake?" He scowled as he stalked to her. "I remember you quite breathlessly pleading for me several times during our encounter."

"Only because you're so heavy." Padma spat then blushed to the roots of her hair. "I'm leaving."

Lucius stopped her with a soft hand to her shoulder. "Mona Lisa, please... I suspect... You must know that I did not plan this."

He cast a Lumos and raised the lights as the doctor blinked in the sudden brightness. He kept his face turned from her, scrambling in his mind for a reason to keep her there. "I actually didn't know you were staying at the hotel until I saw you with the smarmy... Until I saw you in the dining room. I have a water leak at the villa."

"There seems to be an epidemic of that here," Padma said through stiff lips. "I was staying at the hostel by the market..." She paused before adding with dawning understanding. "Your house-elf."

Lucius nodded. "I'm afraid so. I would give him clothes but he would just stick around to ensure my misery. He seems to be fixated upon me."

The doctor relaxed in his grip, giving voice to a rueful laugh that she did not explain. "You do know that I can't accept all the expensive gifts you gave me."

"Gifts?" Lucius retreated to the bar and poured a finger of firewhisky, inviting Padma to join him with a lifted brow. She declined with a revolted expression and a shake of her head. Lucius padded to the divan in front of the fire, waving his wand over the candles and extinguishing them with a silent Nox. "Please, Doctor, join me. I promise to be on my best behaviour."

Padma sat at the other end of the long divan, keeping her expression neutral as she did so. "I don't think it's you I have to worry about, Mr. Malfoy."

"Perhaps." Lucius let his legs fall open in a relaxed sprawl. "Now, tell me about these expensive gifts that came from me. I am intrigued as to what other mischief my trusted servant has gotten up to in my name."

&*&*&

Padma felt a jolt of awareness as Lucius, who had crept closer to her in the intervening hours of talk, touched her leg with his. She suppressed the desire to draw even closer to him as the muscles flexed in his throat as he spoke. "I suppose my politics were execrable when I was younger, but I was given little choice at the time."

"What do you mean?" Padma asked. "We all have free choice. You could have chosen not to become a Death Eater. You could have defied your father."

"I resisted. I was twenty-one, well past the age that Severus was when he took the Mark." Lucius grimaced then sipped his firewhisky, his second in an hour. He was making an effort to slow down, he reminded himself. "You are correct. I could have chosen to shorten my life expectancy and that of my father's to mere hours rather than years. The Dark Lord did not care for dissension in the ranks, no matter if meant extinction for the pureblood lines he controlled."

Padma nursed her firewhisky and looked at the glowing embers in the grate. She had always assumed that Death Eaters were devils and somehow born evil. She had never considered what each of the young men faced if they chose not to follow Voldemort. It was, in fact, hard for her to picture the man before as a callow boy. She leaned her head back, wondering how they had drifted from the original subject of their assignation. Lucius bestowed a lazy smile on her. "You look sleepy."

"I am." Padma leaned toward him, letting her lips brush his ear as she whispered, "I like you, Lucius Malfoy, even with all your baggage and advanced age. Let's not waste my holiday on your fears of the future."

Lucius turned to her and claimed her lips with a languid pressure. When he pulled away from her, his hooded eyes bore a heat that had been missing in them before. "I believe I like you too, gods help me. I could be your father."

"No, you're too fair." Padma laughed at her joke a little tipsily. "I think I should retire to my room before I seduce you."

"Stay with me." Malfoy lifted his brow. "Not tonight, but at the villa. I'm sure as soon as I speak to my errant house-elf, I shall have all the water I need. I'll buy you a futon and give you your own room to ensure my best behaviour."

Padma twined her fingers through his. "Why, Lucius?"

He shifted his weight so that more of his body rested against hers. "Because I seem to be lacking friends at the moment... Because I grow tired of my own limited conversation... Because I enjoy your company... Because I want you... to, that is. Choose the answer you like best."

"I shall consider it if you answer the question I tried to ask before." Padma said then yawned. "Why did you want to get rid of me so badly after... we made love?"

Lucius scoffed softly as a blush spread over his cheeks. Padma was fascinated with the way his long, silver lashes swept downward over his pinkening skin. "The truth?"

"M-hmm." Padma hummed as she slid her tiny, dark foot across the top of his long, pale one. "Always tell me the truth."

Lucius gave her a sceptical look, which she countered with a gentle hand to his cheek. He drew a deep breath. "The humiliating truth is that despite my reputation as a somewhat practiced Lothario, I have had little sexual experience outside of marriage. My father controlled me completely as a young man. He chose the time and the place of my deflowering and ensured that there would be no irritating by-blows that might lay claim to his empire."

Padma watched the jerk of his Adam's apple and felt the sting of his humiliation as he admitted, "When Narcissa divorced me, I consulted certain men's periodicals for information on modern dating etiquette."

"Which one?" Padma asked dredging up the name of one her cousin read regularly. "Wizard's Quarterly?"

The flush deepened on Lucius' cheeks as he said repressively, "None with which you would be familiar. It was a Muggle publication."

She laughed and revelled at the throaty sound of it against his chest. "You read a porn magazine to get your dating advice?"

Lucius shifted looking as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him. "I... did."

"Lucius Malfoy, that is the saddest and sweetest thing I've ever heard." Padma kissed beside his lips as he scowled. "It's time I left. I'll let you know tomorrow whether I will take you up on your offer."

She picked up her sandals and carried them out on her two fingers, not sure if she was feeling dizzy from being tipsy or from being more than a little infatuated.

&*&*&

Sunday morning, Tomas donned his best suit, a brown summer-weight serge that he always wore with a lavender shirt. He looked at himself critically in the mirror, noting the way the cut of the coat accentuated his shoulders and nipped in at the waist. He thought he looked quite dashing; even the care he took would probably be wasted on the Auror he hoped to impress. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it a bit to give himself the sexy, just-out-of-bed look that he liked to project.

He even made it to the door of the apartment before he stopped. Why bother?

He saw in his mind's eye, the blond, handsome face of his first love and felt once more the disappointment of crushed hopes.

Tomas sat on the divan and loosened his tie. He would be going nowhere today. Even brunch with the usual crowd held no appeal for him. For heaven's sake, he was thirty-three years old. Wasn't it time he grew up?

He spent the rest of the day in bed, feeling sorry for himself and eating chocolates. Tomorrow he would go out and meet a more suitable partner at the gym. Today, he just wanted to feel sorry for himself and gain weight.


	8. Helping Hands

Dibby knew he was in danger. Master Lucius had discovered his plottings and was now considering giving him clothes. Dibby stood before Master Lucius, his ears low, his eyes downcast as the cold man looked at him. Not since the disgrace of the No-Good-Dobby had a house-elf displeased Master Lucius more. Tears pooled in Dibby's large brown eyes and dripped down his nose, but Dibby would not apologise for trying to make Master Lucius happy with his wizardy bonding and his warm-coloured Mistress Doctor.

"Oh, do look at me when I speak to you." Master Lucius snapped. "Of all the irritating things about your race, it's the fawning servility that puts me off the most."

When Dibby looked up, Master Lucius did not look as angry as he sounded. If it had been Old-old Master, Dibby would have already been given clothes. Master Lucius' eyes were cold as he asked, "What is the meaning of the debacle of last evening?"

Dibby dared not even blink as he wrung his hands. "Dibby was just caring for Master Lucius. Dibby wants Master Lucius to be happy with the Mistress Doctor because she makes him smile."

"And the water at the villa and the hostel?" Master Lucius lifted one of his brows, a sure sign of his displeasure.

Dibby began playing with the hem of the tea towel he wore, his tears falling like autumn leaves to the floor. "Dibby knows nothing of the hostel's water problems, but can have Master's home's fixed soon."

"Quit your infernal snivelling." Lucius lifted his cane. "Dibby, do not lie to me."

"Dibby will fix it now, and tell his friends to do the same for the hostel." Dibby scurried away from the cane, ready to dodge any serious blows. "Please Master do not give Dibby clothes. Dibby did all of this because he loves master Lucius."

Master Lucius turned abruptly from the house-elf. "What ever have I done to garner such devotion from you?"

"Dibby is...," the house-elf began, his throat clogging with the tears he tried to suppress. Dibby remembered how Old-old Master treated young Master Lucius, and how Dibby thought it was right and good. Dibby remembered finding, to his horror, that not all Masters treated young Masters that way. It was when Master Lucius had his own son and Dibby met other house-elves from other good families that he found out, to his dismay. Dibby was not like the bad house-elf, Dobby, to take more power than the Master expressly bestowed him. Furthermore, Dibby did not interfere in Master Lucius' relationship with his son. Dibby worked within Master Lucius' constraints to make everything right. Until now, when Master Lucius had emerged from the Far Away Bad Place, broken, halting in his speech and even more loveless than he had ever been before. Dibby finally answered. "Dibby owes Master Lucius for not stopping Old Master Abraxas from hurting young Master Lucius. If Dibby had known that the beatings and bad words were not normal for wizards, Dibby would have..."

Dibby backed away as Master Lucius pivoted sharply on his heel, his expression terrifying to behold, teeth clenched and bared as if Master were a wild animal. Master levelled his cane at Dibby, and the house-elf waited for the blows that were sure to follow, eyes closed and hands up in supplication. After ten beats of the heart, Dibby opened his eyes and saw Master Lucius poised to strike but standing as if frozen in one of those wizardy spells the Rotten Lord Half-blood or Grey Lord Dumbledore had taught them all. Dibby reached involuntarily for Master's robe-hem as Master Lucius slowly lowered the wood and silver cane. "It seems... I've misunderstood your motivation."

Dibby was alarmed to see Master's face twist slightly as if he were in pain. The house-elf waited, wanting to heal the bad soul-markings on his wizard, but house-elf magic had its limits. Master Lucius shifted his shoulders and took on his normal face, slightly mocking, always calm. "Thank you, Dibby. Please prepare a room at the villa for Dr. Patil; she will be joining us for the remainder of her holiday."

Dibby bowed again. "Yes, Master Lucius. All will be made right. You'll see Dibby is a good house-elf."

"No more schemes, Dibby," Master Lucius almost looked amused as he spoke. "My reputation is already in tatters; please don't make the doctor think I'm an even bigger villain than she already does."

Master Lucius strode from the room and Dibby wept in earnest over his broken master and the things that should have been done for him while he was a child.

&*&*&

Why, oh why, oh why had Tomas ever introduced the idea of plastic surgery to the practice? He was watching his fifth consultation of the day whinge on about crows-feet and sagging breasts along with other complaints of age. Granted wizarding methods of plastic surgery were less invasive and more permanent than the Muggle injection of collagen and poisons, for Merlin's sake, but before, Tomas' consultations were some diagnostic wand-waving and a few spells or potions to tide over the odd crone, until she could accept that time was marching on whether she liked it or not. Now, he had to look at their sagging dugs, hairy chins and turkey necks. Worse yet he had to touch them to ascertain the best way to disguise the aging process. It was enough to put him off human flesh for the rest of his life.

The old crone across from him took the card he offered with the estimates for the major bodywork she wanted done, and chattered on about her great-grandchildren as he scooted her out the door. It was noon.

Normally at noon, Tomas would gather with the rest of the staff and dish about patients, but today he decided to go to the flat to catch the last of the news and think, maybe come to a decision about what he would do about his crush. If anything could be done, to be honest, as Tomas had not seen Finnegan since Padma left.

He went to the front office. "Damn, it's raining."

"Apparate like the rest of us," the receptionist said with her usual sniff at Tomas' Muggle ways. He had tried to explain that he had not learned to rely on transportational magic in the States because the distances were so far between places. She had scowled when he told he knew how to drive a car before he could Apparate. Tomas waved at her, cast an Impervius spell and exited the building. Sod the manky old twat if she didn't like how he lived his life.

&*&*&

Padma stood outside the villa, repressing the urge to shift from one foot to the other as she waited for the door to open. Perhaps she had misunderstood him, perhaps his offer of hospitality was supposed to be declined... Perhaps...

The door opened. "Dr. Patil, I am honoured."

Lucius stood in the doorway, his hair back in a short club, his jeans and bare feet gloriously topped by a loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt with splatters of paint on it. As he approached, Padma caught a glimpse of pale hair on his chest, platinum and fine against the cotton of his shirt. Lucius offered her his arm and he ushered her to her room, relieving her of her shrunken and lightened bags as he did so. They passed several empty rooms and a sparsely populated library. Most of the rooms had an air of long-term neglect, but the library was freshly painted and inviting. They stopped before a heavy, oaken door and he then bowed with laconic grace, before stating, "Please accept my apologies, I am in the midst of a project and cannot attend to you as I should."

"Are you refurbishing the villa?" Padma asked intrigued with the idea of Lucius-Pure-Blood-Malfoy doing manual labour of any kind, besides what he was forced to do.

Lucius gave a wintry smile. "Just so. It has fallen to disrepair since Father died. It was never my favourite place to visit, although Narcissa seemed to like it. I need to prepare it for the market. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"I can help," Padma volunteered. "I helped my father build a gazebo in the garden at home one summer holiday. At least I can fetch for you."

"That won't be necessary," Lucius answered with a flush. "Please, avail yourself of what is left of the library, or the beach. It's private. Tea will be at four."

Padma watched him walk down the hall away from her, perplexed by his cool demeanour after last evening's accord. She would probably never understand men in general and Lucius Malfoy in particular.

&*&*&

Tomas was never one to believe premonitions and scoffed at those who gave into odd feelings, but today he felt decidedly uneasy as he sat in the flat. He had felt all the way home that someone watched him. He shrugged as he made his luncheon of sandwich and soup, it was probably just a hangover feeling from Padma's ordeal, no doubt, but he just could not shake the feeling of unease, even as he began watching the news.

&*&*&

Padma watched Lucius hoist a beam from the kitchen floor with a muttered spell, cursing under his breath as he strained under the effort of maintaining the magic while simultaneously securing the joist the Muggle way with a magically modified power drill and screws. He Levitated the joist back into place, his concentration complete. When the heavy beam settled with a creak, Lucius let out a pent-up breath, and then leaned against the wall by which he sat, exhaustion etched deeply in the lines around his mouth. He consulted a dog-eared manual, the magical pictures moving over the surface of the pages, the diagrams making every project look easy. Lucius huffed once while reading.

Padma had only seen this type of work done once. It had been after the Final Battle, in the nearly destroyed towers that the Giants had crushed. It had taken a team of two wizarding carpenters to hoist and repair the floor joists. Padma crossed her arms over her chest, peering across the massive hole in the floor to Malfoy. "You're going to kill yourself without help."

"It wouldn't be the first time I tempted fate." Lucius said absently as he ran his hand over his hair that had been slightly mussed in his struggle with the joist. "As you well know, Doctor."

"Don't." Padma said as Lucius lurched to his knees and levelled his wand at the next broken structural section. "Show me the spell, and I'll hold it while your do the repairs."

Malfoy grimaced as he began casting. Padma blocked his wand work with a hasty Protego cast over the joist at which he was aiming. “Do I have to pull rank as a guest? Or, perhaps, doctor’s orders would do it.”

“My dear, “ Lucius began. “I most certainly did not extend the hospitality of my home so that you might usurp my prerogatives as a host.”

He countered the Protego and began casting again. Padma blocked with an Particulate Protection charm used mostly to isolate the occasional wizarding disease or to prevent extracted foreign bodies from penetrating the Healers who removed them. Padma knew it was difficult to counter so she shot Lucius a superior smile as he grunted against the pressure of her spell. He held his spell until the veins popped out on his brow then let it go with a loud sough of breath. He looked furious as he strode jerkily toward her. “Release... the... charm.”

Padma released her spell. “Let me help. Two of us can do the work faster than one, and then maybe you’ll be able to show me around Delos.”

He considered her, his grey eyes cool and assessing. After moments in which Padma fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, he relented. He showed her the specialised ;evitation charm and said, "Let it down easily. The wood is very old and quite brittle."

The laboured for hours, taking turns either wielding the Charms or the drill, both becoming quite filthy in the process as nearly two centuries of dirt was disturbed with their efforts. When the final beam was in place Lucius attempted to cast the last spell, a latticing charm that would make the beams work as a single, jointed unit as the ground shifted. The first time he cast, a sickly green-brown light engulfed the floor and the odour of rotting cabbage filled the room. He quickly removed the spell and consulted the book. Padma joined him, aware of the coppery scent of sweat seeping from both of them. He jerked his head to her. "Read this and see if you can make sense of it."

Padma joined him on the floor, more aware of him as a person than she had ever been before, with his sweat-stained shirt and unshaven face. He was no longer her ideal Lucius Malfoy, the one she had seen even as he lay ill and wasting in hospital. He seemed more like just a man, somehow. Padma settled on her knees and read, feeling the weight of his regard falling to her. His hand snaked to her hair, and he removed a woodchip. He considered her longer before saying. "You are quite... unexpected."

Padma scowled as if in thought about the spell work, but secretly crowed inside with the knowledge that Lucius Malfoy had paid her more than an empty compliment about her looks.

&*&*&

 

Tomas was just washing his dishes when he heard someone at the front door trying to break it down. He went to the entryway, his wand drawn. "Who is it?"

"It's me, you little prick. Open the door."

Tomas struggled to steady the erratic beating of his hammering heart. "Just a minute you impatient bitch."

He deconstructed the wards and with a flick of his wand, unlocked the extraneous Muggle locks. Two girls living alone could never be too careful living in the midst of Muggles, especially after Padma's attack. When he had said this to the woman in question, she had merely rolled her eyes and proclaimed him more than enough to deter the most determined cat burglar. Tomas had been pleased by her comment, but had the locks installed the next day anyway. He opened the door to Goran's handsome face, his Eastern European looks perfectly complemented by the designer togs he wore. Tomas cursed, knowing he looked a fright in the Healer's robes. Green had never been his colour.

"Come in," Tomas said in his most long-suffering tones. "We'll have to make it quick. I have to get back to the surgery."

Goran flounced into the room and took his usual seat, the chair closest to the Floo, his long legs set primly together. "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere. Here." Tomas said. "I just haven't felt like going out."

Tomas knew he was in trouble when he could not meet his friend's eyes. Goran sighed, and then said through compressed lips. "You little twat, you've gone and fallen in love. Who is it?"

"I'm not in love... I just don't feel like going out."

"For over a fortnight." Goran crossed his arms over his chest, his sculpted jaw jutting pugnaciously. "You have. You did the same thing over Francisco, even when he let you know he wasn't interested in a commitment. You did the same thing over that French Veela-wannabe, and over the Spaniard with the lisp."

"He did not have a lisp. It was his accent. He was Catellan” Tomas retorted, unwilling to encourage Goran’s observations. "And I did not say I ever loved them."

"So, who is it? This new love." Goran pushed the cuffs of his sleeves back, revealing his slender wrists which sported twin tribal tattoos. "I'm waiting."

"You're mad." Tomas answered in the same singsong tone used by Goran. "I've got to go. I'll meet you at the pub tonight. Will that put your protective instincts to rest, Mother?"

"Yes. I want to introduce you someone." Goran said, standing. "He's gorgeous and from America. I think he might know you."

"Yes, everybody in America knows everyone else." Tomas rolled his eyes. "It's small like that."

Goran kissed Tomas with a little more tongue than was strictly necessary. Tomas pushed him out the door. "Ta, you wicked Fairy Godmother."

&*&*&

Lucius was intrigued by the doctor-turned-urchin that sat before him, her trouser legs rolled to her knees, sweating and cursing as they replaced the sub-floor. Dibby stood on the periphery of the scene, alternately scandalised and beaming. Lucius hoped he would not have to have another talk with the creature. Padma sat back on her haunches, a dirt streak on her face and more dirt encrusted in her once manicured nails. Lucius levitated the last board into position on the floor, and watched as she screwed it down. After she finished, she laughed, "I'm knackered. Why don't we go to the village and let someone serve us. My treat."

Lucius peered down his nose at her, giving her the best Malfoy stare that he could muster with her coated in grime and him not much better. She laughed. "Yes, I know I am speaking to a Malfoy, but I really want to treat you. You know, for all you did."

"Yes, for making my guest work like a house-elf, I deserve a reward." Lucius scowled as he noticed the state of his manicure.

Padma leaned back on her hands, throwing her breasts in relief against her t-shirt. "I took care of Pansy Parkinson after she came back to Hogwarts."

Lucius looked away, his heart hammering as it had when he had brought the chit back to Scotland. He clenched his fists against the dark images that rose from her words.

"Lucius," Padma whispered against his hair as she enveloped him in her arms. "It's over. Don't let the images take hold of you. It's over."

He took a deep breath. "You know about the visions?"

"I spent a year under the Carrows, what do you think?" She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, seemingly drawing the tension from his neck and out of him. "We stink. What do you say, dinner in the village after a long soak in the tub?"

"Ladies first." Lucius said, as he raised himself and offered her a hand up. He was amused to see a fleeting expression of disappointment cross her normally calm features before she righted herself. "And I will pay for dinner."

"That's what you think, Lucius Malfoy." Padma said, and with a saucy wiggle was gone. Lucius wondered exactly why he had invited such delicious trouble into his abode.

&*&*&

 

Lucius stepped out of the bath to the sound of music coming from down the hall. He dressed leisurely to the sound of a soulful guitar solo. He exited his bedroom as the first line of the chorus rang out in three-part harmony. Roger Water's voice sailed above the others, distinctive in its fluidity. He followed the sound of the music to the guest room and watched as the doctor swayed to the music, singing along, " _Shine on you crazy diamond..._ "

Lucius was transported to a different moment and could almost see Snape swaying in much the same manner as he belted out the same song. It had been his favourite the holiday he spent in Greece. Lucius shook himself, feeling the now familiar miasma of regret, self-loathing, and longing that he had since leaving Azkaban, all emotions with which he had little experience. "I see you've found my secret vice."

Mona Lisa jerked forward before turning to him. "Music?"

"Muggle music." Lucius answered, attempting an affable tone when he really just wanted to curl up in the corner and howl. "More specifically, Pink Floyd. I was always a fan."

"My dad too." Padma said, then coloured. "Not that I think you're remotely like my father... Oh, shite. There's the elephant in the room, I thought we'd lost it."

Lucius looked around, alarmed that his companion might be losing her mind. "I am sorry; I don't follow your line of thinking."

"Oh, it's just something my flatmate says when there something that everyone is ignoring. I think it's a Muggle term, or maybe American." Padma answered as she turned to the ancient stereo and flicked it off.

Lucius winced as she did so. "Don't turn it off like that. The discs are surprisingly fragile."

He went to the stereo and lifted the needle from the record by a tiny arm on the side of the apparatus. "Like this, and then you turn it off."

He balanced the arm back to a cradle by the turntable. "Severus bought this for me. He did it with his first cheque from the apothecary at which he worked. He also felt indebted for something for which he did not actually owe."

"You were good friends," Padma observed as she searched through the recordings in the bin beside the stereo. "I didn't think he liked anyone."

"He did," Lucius answered, retrieving one of the discarded discs, The White Album. "He just never learned how to show it."

Lucius searched through the titles until he saw the one he wanted and turned on the machine, then placed the needle delicately on the disc. "I always told him this was the song that reminded me of him."

A delicate guitar strain began as one of the Beatles, Lucius could never remember whom, began singing, " _Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly..._ "

Mona Lisa's small hand was suddenly on his back and her other on his shaking hand. "You miss him. Is he really alive, like the Prophet said?"

"Yes, and I hope he is finally living his life rather than just existing." Lucius' iron control kept his voice from breaking. "I do think we have a dinner to attend. Shall we?"

The delectable doctor raised another disc and put it on the turntable. "Dance with me first. I think this song is appropriate."

She held out her hands in the proper pose for a waltz and Lucius complied as the smooth tones of Nat King Cole sang began the song Mona Lisa.

They glided together, their bodies meshed and Lucius felt as if things might be getting better for him. It was the first time in years that he had felt so. He lowered his lips to Padma's and drank in her essence as the song ended on the sweet strain of violins. Once over, he bowed. "Thank you. Now let us repair to the village. I am as hungry as a niffler in a gold-mine."

Padma looked as if she might agree, but Lucius suspected her hunger was of a more base nature. His certainly was.

&*&*&

Tomas thought it was a mixed blessing sometimes that he had friends. This evening, for instance, it had been more a curse. The young man that Goran had brought to the pub was more interested in capturing the attentions of the entire pub than the wizards at the table. Tomas was treated for two hours to a disgusting display of nipple rubbing and hair tossing. It was when the little slut began groping Tomas under the table toward the end, when he found no other takers that the Healer made his apologies and exited. Had it been less than a month ago, Tomas would have shagged the little tart and not thought any more about it. Now all he could see were the Auror and his stalwart expression.

He came home, some idiot had left the main door open and Tomas cursed under his breath. Didn't these imbeciles know this was a high-crime area? He did not want to give credence to the fears of this afternoon, but upon entering the building, he had the same sense of foreboding. He slammed the door, and walked up the stairway to his flat, wishing that the ground floor had been available. He most definitely did not feel like climbing three flights tonight. He came to the hallway and was surprised to see the lights were out. He would tell the concierge tomorrow.

He began dispelling the wards, wondering why he still bothered with them since Padma was gone on holiday. A noise sounded down the hall, perhaps Mrs. Jorgensen had forgotten to let her cat back in, the little monster. It had bitten him last time. Then, as if in slow motion, a hand crashed on his shoulder and spun him around. Tomas was aware of a skull-like face, shaven head and black leather as the figure commenced beating him. After what seemed like thirty fists to his face, Tomas mercifully sank into blackness where there was no pain or scary men.


	9. After the War

Tomas drifted in and out of agony-filled consciousness, experiencing glimpses of concerned faces unfamiliar to him, feeling warm hands on his body. Lights flashing and a cyclic, mechanical wail were the next impression. He drifted as needles were inserted into his arms and an oil-smelling apparatus was put over nose and mouth, the pressure of stale air forcing its way past his open and gasping mouth. Tomas struggled ineffectually against the cloying stream but was stopped by another face with feminine hands and a harsh, Yorkshire accent. Then they were moving and Tomas retched because of the pain caused by the gentle swaying of the conveyance in which they were rode. Another person relieved him of the apparatus that now smelled of vomit while the Yorkshire woman sopped up the mess with a towel.

"Wand." Tomas said feeling broken teeth against his jaggedly cut lips.

The woman patted him and consulted a machine. "What do you want?"

"Wand."

The second figure asked, "Wot's 'e sayin'?"

"I think it's a name, maybe his wife. Wanda or something." Yorkshire woman said before turning back to Tomas. "Don't worry, dear. Someone'll contact your family oncet you're in hospital."

It was then that Tomas realised he was in a Muggle emergency vehicle. He was in an ambulance that would take him to a Muggle hospital. He struggled again, trying to disengage himself from the tubing and then he heard a crackly, static-filled voice. Once more, hands restrained him and he saw a plunger being depressed on a syringe that had been stuck into the tubing. He drifted again as a chemical calm enveloped him with dizzying rapidity.

&*&*&

Padma sat on the futon in her room, the music spinning around her. The man of the hour, Lucius Malfoy, had been solicitous throughout dinner and had even refrained from his usual firewhisky. He now lay sprawled at the other end of the futon, in shirtsleeves and trousers, his hair down and blowing in the breeze from the open doors. Padma assumed the same sprawl on her end, knowing her blouse rode up and exposed a considerable expanse of taut belly. They were both comfortably full and relaxed.

Lucius rubbed his bare foot on the floor in time to the beat of a band called Led Zeppelin. Padma liked the music, a rich mixture of Eastern, British Isles folk music, and raucous blues. She let her mind drift until it settled on the one thing she had been wondering at since Lucius disappeared from England. "Why did you leave London?"

Lucius shifted, bringing his aristocratic foot onto the futon, his long toes against hers. "Because I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're Lucius Malfoy..." Padma began as she invoked the power his name once held, wanting to coax his answer from him. She curled her toes over his, and he gave the sardonic half-smile that was uniquely his.

"I mean, I was Lucius Malfoy, pureblood scion of an influential family. Then I was Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater husband of Narcissa, father of Draco then Death Eater turned spy." Lucius considered his hand for a long moment before adding. "Now... I suppose I am Lucius Malfoy, ex-convict. I have become parasitic and flawed. It's not an enviable position in which to find myself."

"Believe me, you were always flawed, whether you admitted to it or not. We all are," Padma offered. "You know that the Aurors weren't after you. They deemed what you did, defence. They said that man was going to harm me rather badly."

"He was going to rape and then kill you." Lucius cut in, his eyes once more cold and frightening. "You would not have been his first. I would have killed him if you hadn't stopped me." Lucius again began looking at his hands, now calloused from years of neglect and more recent work. To Padma they looked beautiful. "Any other witch, I would have certainly protected... but because it was you... I lost my temper."

"Should I be scared or flattered?" Padma asked, as she suddenly sat forward, her hands on his knees, "Or maybe both?"

Lucius didn't answer, involving himself in buffing a rough edged thumbnail with his fingertip. Padma crawled forward. "Or, is it you who is scared?"

She took his left arm in her hands. "I want to see your Mark."

"No." Lucius said flatly, his tone disappointed.

Padma kissed the spot on his shirt that overlay the Mark. "You think I want to see it out of some sort of morbid curiosity?"

Lucius made no reply but to lift her chin from its position over his Dark Mark. Padma turned away from his scrutiny and moved forward, straddling his legs, her thin cotton night pants nearly ripping at the seams from the position. "I've already seen your Dark Mark, Lucius, when you were in hospital. I just wanted to see it again, so I can try to resolve the Lucius I see before me with the one that took that Mark. You're one and the same I think, but different somehow."

Lucius let out a pent up breath a he looked in her eyes, his expression ironic and disbelieving as he released the cuff on his shirt and pulled the sleeve up. "There. Not my entire history, but enough for you to get the gist."

Padma traced the faded skull and the now static snake. Lucius flinched at her first touch then stilled, as she made no comment. She pulled the sleeve down then moved her hands to his collar, working her nimble fingers over the buttons. He sucked in a breath as she pulled the shirt apart, lowering her lips to the exposed skin. "You really are a beautiful man, Lucius. It's almost a shame to let it go to waste."

She scraped her fingernails over his chest, brushing over the hardened, brown nipples as she pulled his shirt away from his body. She looked up to his face as she ran the flat of her palm over his ridged stomach muscles, watching him watching her. It became an erotic contest to see who would look away first. Her fingers curled around the waistband of his trousers and she became both winner and loser as she looked down at the growing tumescence. She felt powerful knowing that she had wrought that change. "Tell me you want me to stop."

Lucius remained silent, his eyes hooded and his hands working against the seat of the futon. Padma smiled, suddenly shy as she fingered the buttons of his fly. She cupped her hand over him as he thrust up against her palm. Her eyes flew to his face, heat suffusing her cheeks. Lucius growled, "Make sure this is what you want."

It was her turn to remain silent as she undid the top button of his trousers exposing the pale line of hairs that led her eyes further down. Another button exposed a thin, silver scar that Padma traced with her finger, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Lucius. Padma followed the line until it disappeared from sight under the duck-cloth of the khaki trousers. "Are all your scars from being a Death Eater?"

Lucius sat forward abruptly, breaking her contact with his skin. Padma felt the loss as an ache in her chest. He traced her lips with his fingers, his gaze predatory in its intensity. "I do believe that is enough for this evening, Mona Lisa. I'm rather knackered and have a busy day planned tomorrow, if I am to escort you around Delos by the end of the week."

Padma scooted away from him thinking, _Okay, no questions about his Death Eater days, do not look at his Dark Mark, touch that delicious skin, but do not try to get to know him._

She filed the information away. It was just a holiday fling, right? She did not need to know everything about him, along as they had a good time.

She watched him leave, shutting the door with a whisper of wood against tile as the leather hinges sagged. She asked herself, if it was just a holiday fling, then why did she feel so bereft as he exited without answering her question?

She closed her eyes against the flickering witchlight and drifted again with the music, the calm of the evening lost.

&*&*&

"Sir! Sir!" Tomas heard a frantic female shout as the curtains to his exam room were hastily thrust aside. "You can't go in there unless you are family... I'm going to fetch security."

Tomas looked through the slit of an eyelid that was left after the pummelling he had taken to see the grim face of Seamus Finnigan. Tomas groaned, wishing if something dire had to happen to fetch the Auror to his side, that he could at least look pretty when said Auror responded. Finnigan looked the Goan over, flinching as he came to the man's face. "Jesus man, you look like you've been run over by a herd of Hippogriffs."

Tomas turned his face away from the man, battling tears and nausea. He finally was able to croak, "They... contact... Aurors?"

Finnigan leaned forward, his breath tickling Tomas' hair as he whispered, "Naw, you hadn't disassembled all of the wards when you were attacked. One was keyed to me in case the Muggle tried to enter your flat."

Finnigan ran a hand over Tomas' blood matted hair. "I've come to fetch you to St. Mungo's."

Tomas focused on the Auror. He was not in Auror's robes, his hair was mussed and it looked as if he had dressed in the dark. "Sorry... to ... bother..."

"It's nothin' I wouldn't do for any friend." Finnigan said, his smile warming his eyes as he brushed a knuckle over Tomas' cheek. "Now, let me fill out the forms these Muggles require, and I'll take you away from here."

The curtain jerked open and a physician in a white coat reminiscent of the one Padma wore, strode into the room with two burly men in black uniforms. "Sir, unless you are family," the doctor's tone conveyed his doubt about Seamus' relationship to the patient. "I am going to have to ask you to leave."

"No." Tomas croaked as he took the Auror's hand.

Finnigan stroked Tomas' fingers, the only spot on his body that did not ache or was not covered in blood from the beating. "He means I am family of a sort. Don't you darlin'?"

Tomas' heart lurched at the endearment, his breath coming in shorter gasps as physician moved the Auror aside. Machines began beeping frantically as Tomas felt the world fade to grey. He clung to consciousness as the doctor methodically assessed his patient. The doctor barked, "You need to leave. Please wait out in the family room. I'll be with you shortly."

The last thing Tomas saw before the grey turned to black was Finnigan's alarmed face, his freckles in bold relief against his pale skin, his alarm apparent with his gaping mouth.

&*&*&

Lucius sank to his bed, the bottle of firewhisky he had stashed for such and event held in his shaking hand. The woman was too observant and too curious for his tastes. Narcissa had never enquired about his scars; of course, she had been on the receiving end of a caning or two by Abraxas herself. Furthermore, Cissy bore her own scars. Her body had been just as abused by her family for much the same reason; as Lucius' scars were present on his. Both of them bore the thin, silver lines as badges of their pure-blood superiority. At least, that was what they told themselves.

He downed a good portion of the whisky not exactly enjoying the burn, but welcoming it nonetheless. The raw feeling of his throat and the fire in his belly let him know he could still feel something. His poor choices, forced on him or taken on willingly, had not burned that last vestige of humanity out of him at least.

He considered for a moment returning to the lovely doctor and answering her every question. It would be nice to have a confessor that understood something of what he went through, even if her path were never as darkly shadowed as his had been. He then discarded the idea as a true breach in Malfoy protocol, formulated over ten Stygian centuries, and deviated from only once. The result had not been pleasant for the malefactor. Lucius took another drink, waiting for the anaesthetising effect of the alcohol to kick in. It was ironic that he welcomed the pain of the alcohol, but fled from the agony of his own demons that gnawed at his gut even as he shed the filth of the Prison and the horror of his boyhood.

The chit, with her innocent fingers and questing mind had brought it all crashing to the fore. Lucius took a long swallow, revelling in the fact that Abraxas would have probably beaten him for his gauche flaunting of propriety as he swigged his sorrows away directly from the bottle. Finally, the demons appeased as he became blindingly and gloriously drunk, he fumbled with the cap of the bottle and put it safely to bed beside the futon. He sank against the mattress fully clothed and fell into a dreamless stupor.

&*&*&

Dibby despaired of ever getting Master and Mistress Doctor Patil together if Master kept retreating to the firebeer. There were house-elf spells that would make Master find the firebeer sickening and house-elf magics that would make Master talk away his demons, but both were methods of last resort. It was a house-elf's duty to provide a clean home and unwavering loyalty. If a house-elf took too much power from the Master, it would have lasting consequences. Just as No-Good-Dobby's interference had caused Master to beat him, such drastic measures on Dibby's part would cause him to have to punish himself to death. It was house-elf law, unbreakable and unmitigating. Dibby would only act if Master were in danger of death. He would not act before because if the house-elf magics failed, Dibby would not have a second chance to make things right.

Dibby removed Master's clothes, cast a freshening charm on the wizard and left after covering Master for the night against the cool, sea air. Dibby would pray to all the gods, elf, goblin and fairy, for Master Lucius to realise what he needed, and that she lay just down the hall. Dibby could still hear her music playing on the strange box Master Snape had given Master all those years ago. Dibby was glad he hid it from Master Lucius' purge of the house. Dibby might be able to use it more for enticing wizardy bonding.

&*&*&

Padma was jerked to wakefulness by a strange keening sound coming from down the hall. She hastily donned her light cotton dressing gown and opened the door to her room to ascertain where the noise originated. If it were the house-elf, she would be unable to do much. Their constitution was substantially different from those of wizards. If it were the wizard... Padma suppressed a shiver as the keening took on a fevered pitch punctuated now by hoarse shouts of anguish.

_Lucius._

She padded down the hall, knowing it would not do to startle the wizard from whatever dreams held him in thrall. She had made that mistake in hospital with Ronald Weasley when he was admitted for Post Traumatic Stress after the war during her internship. He had almost dislocated her jaw as he reacted to the perceived threat. Padma whisked the door to the room open, and paused, watching Lucius as he thrashed about in his sleep. She cast a stasis Charm to protect herself from any magical backlash that could be unleashed during his arousal. "Lucius, it is time to wake."

She moved closer, touching the bed in the process, and the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back on the floor, Lucius' body over hers as he choked her. She struggled until she saw Morpheus clear from his eyes. She was left with a sobbing wizard who stank of stale alcohol and fear-tinged sweat. She moved her arms over him as he sank once more into sleep. They stayed that way until morning when she was able to lift him enough to retreat to her bed, sore in both body and heart.

&*&*&

Tomas woke to a brightly lit, cheery ward. He was the only patient in the six-bed room, but he could see it contained other occupants by the rumpled state of several of the beds. He looked about gingerly to see Finnigan in the same clothes of the night before, sprawled out in an uncomfortable, institutional chair of hard plastic. Tomas coughed experimentally and was rewarded with near agony in his abdomen.

"Don't move, man." Finnigan slurred. "The Heal-- er... Doctors here operated on you to remove a ruptured spleen."

Tomas attempted to speak, but the rawness of his throat prevented more than a squeak. Finnigan continued, "They said I could move you when you woke. I just have to send a Patronus and the Healer will be on their way. Oh, and do not talk. They shoved a tube down your throat when they gutted you."

Tomas saw the suppressed shiver of the Auror as he prepared to cast the Patronus. A silvery fox capered once around the room before exiting the window. Finnigan holstered his wand up his sleeve once again and looked at Tomas critically as the Healer attempted to speak. "No, don't man, you'll hurt yourself."

Finnigan groped around in a table beside the bed until he found a pad of paper and a pen. "Use these if ye must talk."

Tomas gripped the paper and pen and wrote, "Wand?"

"I am sorry, man, it was broken in the beating." Finnigan looked away, his mouth screwed tightly shut, in apparent accord with the anguish Tomas felt at the loss. "I'll contact Ollivander to see what we can do about it. I owe Padma that much."

Tomas scribbled painfully again. "Why do you owe Padma?"

"She fixed me up after the Carrows..." Finnegan moved restively in his seat, not meeting the older wizard's eyes. "You were lucky to be in the States for your schooling."

"Was here during." Tomas wrote. "I know."

The last words were underlined three times. Tomas had been a particular target of the Seekers. He had spent the last four months of the conflict in hiding and on the run. His father and mother had been vocal opponents of Voldemort during both wars. His father had been enough of an American to view it as his right to openly ridicule the despot. Mum had been more circumspect but no less vocal. When Dumbledore was killed, the fact had sent them fleeing back to India where they remained. Tomas had stayed out of stupidity or bravery, he could never say which.

"Sorry, mate." Finnigan stood. "I guess we all have our stories."

"Yeah." Tomas punctuated the single word with a sharp stab to the paper. "Thanks. For all."

Finnegan turned to the noise and read with a small laugh at the end. "No problem."

"Who?" Tomas wrote again.

Finnegan looked at the question in puzzlement and Tomas scribbled. "Did this to me?"

"We don't know. The woman who found you didn't see anything. I suspect..." Finnigan paused then said as if making a decision. "I think it was the same bloke who attacked Padma."

Tomas let the paper fall from his fingers. There was nothing more to ask.

The Auror resumed his seat, pulling closer to pat Tomas on the hand. That was how the Healer from St. Mungo's found them.

&*&*&

Lucius followed the delicious odours of coffee and bacon to the kitchen. He had already administered a dose of Hang-Over Cure, unsure how he ended up on the floor in the night. He must cut back on the drinking. He expected to see Dibby's small form at the hob, and was surprised to see Mona Lisa instead. She was warbling an almost atonal melody in a strange language and high, almost girlish voice. He liked the sound of the music as she sang.

Without turning from the frying pan over which she laboured she said, "Your coffee is on the table outside. I'll be out with the bacon shortly."

Lucius traversed the room and leaned against the counter, snagging a buttered crumpet from a plate beside the hob. "I'll wait for you. Where is my house-elf?"

"I sent him to market to get more than cheese, wine and bread." Padma stated acerbically, the sour expression on her face matching her words. "You're drinking too much and not eating well."

Lucius lifted a brow laconically. "I believe you fired me as a patient in London, Doctor."

"Shut it, Malfoy." Padma said with heat. "You don't even remember last night, do you?"

Lucius lost his relaxed pose at her attitude as he purred dangerously, "I remember it very well, Madam."

"So you remember having a nightmare and knocking me on my bum while you choked me?" Padma asked, her expression all innocence. "You remember drinking yourself into a stupor?"

Lucius turned on his heel and exited the room his fury barely contained. He heard the doctor thrust the iron pan off the burner and follow him to his room where he spied the bottle of the night before beside his bed. Lucius felt her arms around his waist. "Whether you want me to or not, Lucius Malfoy, I care about what happens to you."

He closed his eyes against the heat and the pain of the tears in his throat. "I do apologise for my brutish behaviour. It shall not happen again."

"Not while I'm here, perhaps, but when I leave?" Padma circled his body, coming around the front of him. "I care about you, Lucius. The gods only know why. You're impossible."

Lucius gave her a wintry smile. "And you are improbable. Why would you of all people care about me?"

Padma shrugged. "I suppose I just do. I hope that's a good enough reason for you, because it's all I have."

Lucius enclosed her in an embrace, the feel of her heart against him stunning his inner demons to silence. Padma was the first to break the mood as her stomach rumbled. "Now, enough of this. I'm starving and I refuse to work on an empty stomach. What are we going to work on today?"


	10. Admissions and Hopes

Lucius and Padma spent the rest of the morning righting the bookshelves in the library. The Slytherin, utilising his finely honed Slytherin skills for subterfuge, had suddenly become dizzy when on the ladder placing the top-most shelves in place. Padma, quite the little Ravenclaw, had merely smirked at him and levitated the remainder of the shelves up and into position. His disappointment at not being able to peer up the rather large legged shorts she wore while she was on the ladder was palpable. It was then that she instituted a new game.

The game consisted of a kiss or caress for every task completed. Lucius was rewarded dutifully with an open-mouthed kiss after he had moved a rather dusty drop cloth from its place of rest. Padma received a full on sucking lick to her ample thigh after placing the aforementioned cloth in a cubby. Lucius then received a bite to his nipple through his shirt for the suckling lick on her thigh. He now had his Mona Lisa pinned to the wall, her thighs tightly around his waist, as he thrust his painfully constricted erection at her clothed core. She was panting and moving against him with a great deal of fervour.

“What say we take this to a more comfortable venue?” Lucius asked.

His little doctor answered with a heated kiss and clinging arms. She closed her eyes as he moved them down the hall.

“Lucius, the bedrooms are that way,” she protested and he merely smiled at her naiveté.

He began feasting on her as soon as he laid her out on the table, his kisses drugging her to moaning acquiescence. He exposed her body to the air with a whispered spell and a flick of his fingers. His little Mona Lisa clutched at his back as he progressed from her delicate jaw to her rounded belly.

She hissed, “Lucius.”

He divested himself of his clothing as he hummed further down her belly, the vibrations exciting his lips. Once he was at the steamy focus of his ardour, he slowed, bestowing gentle nips to her inner thighs, parting her with his fingers. She mewled mindlessly as he breached her. Padma convulsed as he gave a gentle swipe over the area of his intense focus.

She came undone after only a few moments and before she could recover, he sheathed himself in her fully. Her quivering response to his intrusion nearly sent him over the edge, but he mastered himself, putting off the inevitable until he could see her come undone once more as he ground into her. It took only a few more strokes before she began her pulsating arc to completion. He grunted in surprise as her motions took him over the edge. It had been too long for him, even with Narcissa’s help six months ago.

After they both recovered, he gently withdrew from her, kissing her as he did so. She hissed with the loss of him. “I could get used to this way of doing chores.”

“We would certainly be more pleased with the work.” Lucius chuckled. He sat on the table next to her supine body, knowing he leered at her with some sappy expression of middle aged gratitude. He spied the morning’s dishes, now put away in their respective spots. “Did you mean what you said this morning?”

Padma rolled onto her side, and Lucius followed the motion of her tight, high breasts as she did. She ran her fingers over his sparsely haired thigh. “Which part?”

“The part where you said you—" he grimaced, before saying, “cared for me.”

She cupped her hand over his flaccid length, fondling him as if she were a tinker trying to judge the weight of gold. “Mmmm, my favourite part of man.”

He shifted, feeling himself rousing to her touch. “I do not believe that was an answer, Mona Lisa.”

She moved closer, her cinnamon fingers dancing over him before she kissed the juncture of his thigh and his torso. “I think you heard me. Is it so impossible to believe?”

“You want to marry,” he said, the statement baldly accusatory.

Padma stood, casting about for her knickers. “Yes.”

Lucius was surprised his paramour had given the game away so easily. It had been years since he had dated anyone, but he was certain women were motivated by one of two things. He had to ascertain which motivated his Mona Lisa: Money or Security. He could exploit either of the motivations, enjoy himself and perhaps still come away unscathed. As he schemed, he almost missed the rest of her statement.

“...sure I will want to marry someday when I find the right man. I don’t think I’ve met him yet though.” Mona Lisa said. “Lucius, did you vanish my knickers?”

He enjoyed the view as she bent to peer under the table until the statement sank into his sex-sated consciousness. “What do you mean; you haven’t met the right man yet?”

“Here they are!” She stood and donned the practical, white-cotton pants that just skimmed her round hips. Lucius had been charmed when he spied them this morning as she bent to reach for the first shelf. She looked at him for a moment before answering his question. “I mean, Lucius, that as much as I enjoy your considerable charms, I don’t consider you husband material and I’m sure my family would find many objections to you. I may be English born, but I am Indian-bred. Surely you realise that a divorced man with a shady past isn’t a considered a good catch, no matter his wealth.”

She settled between his legs, her hands on both thighs. “Does that set your mind at ease?”

The statement stung him. He was surprised by the nearly visceral reaction to her dismissal of him as marriageable material. Was he motivated by actual feelings for the temptress before him? He just did not know anymore. He almost recoiled from her touch before he saw the humour in the situation. “You’re using me for sex?”

Mona Lisa smiled, a lazy one that send curling frissons of pleasure through his gut. “We are enjoying our holiday. That’s all, Lucius.”

She kissed him thoroughly before pulling him from the table. “We have work to complete. I want to go to Athens on Friday. Are you up for it?”

He could think of many things he was up for, Athens could be another. “Lead on, Mona Lisa.”

&*&*&

Tomas spoke to both Muggle and wizarding authorities about his attack. Finnigan had gone to work and made the report early that morning. Tomas had no other visitors but the squib Muggle police that came to ask him questions and an Officer Bulstrode who sat before him now.

She read over his statement, tapping the ever-present pad of parchment with her Dicto-quill as her sharp blue eyes skimmed the words. She looked up at him, “So, how long have you been with Finnigan?”

“I told you, he came to hospital after I was attacked...” Tomas answered, wondering if Finnigan’s interest in his case might mean some trouble for the Auror.

Bulstrode gave a low chuckle, a dry sound in the cool air of the ward. “You don’t know, do you?”

“What?” Tomas asked jerking as the Muggle stitches tightened in his abdomen.

Bulstrode moved to the door, mirth written in the lines of her face. “Just do me a favour. When you do hook up with him, make sure it’s before October thirteenth. That way I’ll win the pool on when he finally decides to come out of the closet.”

Tomas scowled, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah.” Bulstrode put her hand on the doorknob. “And I’m Father Christmas with tits.”

She exited the room, leaving Tomas with a feeling of exultant humiliation and a raging problem below his waist. He looked down at his todger. “You will remain calm; remember how much trouble that nosy dyke got you in during the Amsterdam holiday.”

His todger remained a separate and happy entity and Tomas groaned as the door opened, revealing Finnigan’s clean-cut good looks.

&*&*&

Dibby happily prepared the afternoon tea. His Master and soon-to-be new Mistress were in the library, reeking of wizardy bonding. When they were not touching, they were looking at each other hungrily. Dibby knew those looks and liked them well.

Dibby cast a special house-elf spell, one to increase ardour in joined wizards. It was not exactly proscribed, that spell, but it was skirting the bounds of house-elf decency. Dibby took the spell’s energy a bound it into the food he prepared the strands, barely recognisable silver amidst the swirling white of the clotted cream.

Dibby hesitated when he thought of casting the next spell. The temple house-elf for the Lady Aphrodite had been upset that he even considered using a fertility spell on his yet unattached Master. Dibby had assured the venerable house-elf that he would wait. Dibby felt the spell building behind his eyelids, under his fingernails. He gathered his resolve like a buffering cloak to the cold winds. That spell could wait.

Dibby put the final touches to the light repast and brought the platter with him to the terrace, now the site of all the Malfoy meals. Not like in the old days when Old-old Master would insist on a good English meal, indoors and cloistered away from the sun.

To Dibby, the site that greeted him was beyond his wildest imagininings. Master Lucius held Mistress Doctor in his arms, his silver energies blending with her blue ones as he held her. These two were well on their way to giving Dibby his wish. When the colours became one, a new wizard for the Malfoy clan would be on its way.

He popped the tray over to them, using the stealth that all house-elves were trained to from the day they were pressed into service. Master took the offering with no comment, but the great wizard that Mistress Doctor was caused her to say her thanks aloud. Dibby danced and gambolled with joy as he Apparated back to the kitchen.

Mistress Doctor was a great wizard, almost as great as Harry Potter was, and certainly good enough for Master.

&*&*&

Tomas moaned into Finnigan’s shoulder as the man hoisted the Healer’s lithe body into his arms. The Auror told the taxi-driver to drop them at an alleyway just far enough away from prying eyes that they could easily Disapparate to Tomas’ flat.

Once inside the Apparation point behind the building, Finnigan grunted, “You’re sure about staying in your flat?”

Tomas was not sure about even being able to be alone, but he damned well was not going to tell the Seamus that. He would die before he allowed the Auror to take him in because he pitied Tomas. Furthermore, he could not picture himself living in a guest room in Finnigan’s mum’s house, where the Auror still lived, and be comfortable with the situation. Tomas nodded his head in meagre show that he accepted the consequences of his decision.

Finnigan grunted again as he repositioned Tomas in his arms. “Very well, I’ll stay here with you.”

“Wha...” Tomas’ reply was succinct and urbane to his ears and he grimaced in awareness of the Auror who held him.

Finnigan stepped towards the back entryway of the building. “You heard me. I can’t let Padma’s flatmate be injured again. She’d have my arse.”

Tomas felt a groan issue from his mouth at the thought of his secret obsession being with him for the next fortnight and a few days and the phrase he had just uttered.

Finnigan grinned down at Tomas, his slow, lop-sided smile spreading warmth through the Healer as if Seamus were a small sun. Finnigan said, “I won’t eat much, and I promise to clean up after myself. Let me stay.”

Tomas felt his head nod under its own power. Damning his body and his loss of control over it, he squeaked, “Fine.”

&*&*&

Padma luxuriated in the caldarium, enjoying the wash of the soft water over her body as Lucius tended to his own ablutions. She had never been one to want to share her time like this, and was astounded that Lucius’ presence did not grate on her as Justin’s had. She watched as he laid his head back on the surface gouged out of the marble for just such a use. In the steam rising from the water and in his relaxed state, the years of hard use fell from his face. He may not look young but he definitely did not look like a man rapidly approaching middle age. Padma saw that his hair had not actually changed colour from its original blond. It had mellowed to platinum rather than the showier silver it had been. His brow was smooth but with a hint of scowl lines and his chin, while firm was softening, giving him a more vulnerable appearance than he had before. Her eyes drifted to the Dark Mark on his arm. She had heard during the first war, after Voldemort’s defeat that the Mark had faded. She wondered why it had not after the despot’s true death.

She remembered seeing Lucius in all his sartorial elegance during the last year of her Hogwarts education, spying on him as he spoke with Professor Snape. At the time, she had assumed they had business for Voldemort that they had to complete. She wondered now if that was truly their topic, or if they had been even then, working to save the women like the one Draco had married.

Without moving a facial muscle, or opening his eyes, Lucius said. “I know that look, Mona Lisa. You have a serious question about something.”

“I suppose I do.” Padma breathed. She cupped water over her breasts, wishing that they were shapelier. They bobbed to the surface like two ripe melon-shaped sacs, the brown-black nipples puckered in the evening chill.

She felt Lucius shift, his bobbly bits brushing her calves as he adjusted his position. He inclined his head, a gesture of munificence. “I suppose you would not be a woman if you were not curious about me in some way. Ask your questions, Mona Lisa. I shall not guarantee an answer, however.”

Padma was struck anew by his handling of her and their obvious age difference. She blurted out, “You don’t treat me like my father treats me.”

“I should hope not.” Lucius responded with a laconic raise of an eyebrow and a moue of mild distaste. “Now ask your questions, before I fall into the sleep of well-used doddering old man.”

“You know what I mean, you oaf.” Padma scooted from her position across from him to rest her head on his chest. His thick arms snaked around her belly as she settled her bum against his groin. He twitched slightly at her intrusion into his sacred Malfoy air, but made no move away from her. She continued, “You don’t treat me as if I’m a child, you know, Draco’s age.”

“That is because I never knew you as a child. You came to me fully sprung as if from Zeus’ brow.” Lucius rumbled. “Must you remind me of my advanced age in your presence?”

“Oh, what a poetic way of saying you never noticed me until I had bubbies.” Padma answered as she ran her fingers lazily through the sparse hairs on his legs. “I was going to ask you, when you used to come to Hogwarts when Snape was h-headmaster, what were you doing there?”

“My son was there, what else would I be doing?” Lucius asked in feigned innocence.

Padma brought his hand to bear on her breast, letting the weight of the appendage shape it into a more comely form. “I thought you were there on business for Voldemort.”

He hissed at the sound of the most hated name and then murmured, “Sorry, force of habit.”

Padma paused, watching as the Mark on his arm seemed to darken and bubble under the surface of his skin. “It hurts you when someone says Vol-- that name?”

“It always pains me,” Lucius said with no self-pity. “It has done since I took it.”

Silence settled between them as Padma drew his arm to her mouth. She kissed the grey-black surface of the Proteus charm. “I wonder why it hasn’t faded. Professor Snape’s had from what Harry told me, until Vol— He returned in our fourth year.”

“It has.” Lucius said, pulling his arm from her grasp. He dipped his head to her neck. “I believe you were asking an impertinent question?”

Padma shivered against him as he ran his deft tongue and lips over her exposed flesh. “Yes, I was asking, were you always at Hogwarts on His orders or were you working with Snape?”

Lucius sighed. “Sometimes I was there on the Dark Lord’s orders, others on Severus’ and still more on a mission to keep my son from doing greater harm to himself that he already had.”

He nipped her earlobe then soothed the abused flesh with a sucking pull from his lips. “You have more questions?”

Padma relaxed against him. “I suppose I do, but they can wait.”

She felt Lucius smile against her neck.

_Bloody man and his wicked mouth,_ Padma thought as she gave in to the sensation spreading from his gentle touch to her body.

&*&*&

Tomas had almost cried when he had seen the mess left from his attack. His dried and rusty blood littered the door, jamb and carpet of the hallway. He thought that he might discern bits of his hair in that blood. He felt faint as Seamus set him on his feet.

“Sorry about the mess the Muggles said something about this still being a crime scene,” the Auror said. “You’ll be all right while I disassemble the wards? I don’t want you fainting on me.”

Tomas leaned heavily on the wall that had the least of his body fluids on it. Visions of the night flitted through his head as he watched Finnigan’s deft magical work. Seamus hummed atonally as he worked, a thing that Tomas might have found endearing had he not felt so exposed at the moment. His gut hurt where the Muggles had barged in and taken bits out of him, and the Healers could not make the flesh heal magically. They told him he would have to bear it like a Muggle, the sodding fucks.

Seamus finished opening the door and took Tomas’ arm. “Let’s get you to bed. I’m sure you could use the rest.”

_Bloody hell,_ Tomas thought, _if that Officer Bulstrode wasn’t right about Finnigan being gay, he was going to kill her with his own delicate hands._

Finnigan settled Tomas onto the aforementioned bed and left the room. A few seconds later he popped his head around the corner of the doorway, “I’ve found linens. Should I use the divan or can I sleep in Padma’s room?”

_Sodding fucking hell._ Tomas thought grimly as his overactive and recently underused cock sprang to life. Visions of a tousle-haired Irishman’s head on a pillow next to his formed in his mind.

Finnigan took the long silence for an answer. “Right, Padma’s room is off-limits. It’s the couch for me.”

Tomas leaned back against the headboard of his bed wanting to call the Auror back and show him where he could sleep. Not that Seamus would actually get much rest. He gingerly slid down onto a pillow. All he needed right now was for Finnigan to return and see him in such a state of arousal. He would scare the poor closeted man right out of the flat.

&*&*&

Lucius stirred from a sated sleep, wondering why he felt so buoyant and yet so weighted. Mona Lisa sighed in her sleep and Lucius watched the glistening drops of water that he had stirred trickle down her skin. He stretched as much as he could with her graceful body draped over him in the water. She sighed, her mouth a perfect oval.

“Oh, Lucius, I think we need to get out,” she said.

Lucius lifted her away from him until he could get a good footing. “I do believe you are correct, darling.”

She stirred, almost childlike in her movements as she got out of the bath and padded towards the bed. Lucius cast a quick drying spell on her before she hit the soft sheets and began slumbering in earnest.

He wasted no time in joining her, but after tossing for what seemed like hours, he got up. He wanted a drink and he wanted it badly. He had promised the little termagant that now occupied his bed that he would have no alcohol whilst he was with her. It shamed him that she felt she had to extract that promise from him. Addictions seemed to be more a Muggle issue than a wizarding one. He winced as he realised his son had been addicted to the Muggle poison heroin, and his own father had succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver rather than dragon pox as Lucius had spread about. Perhaps Ian would know what to do. The Muggle blood-priest had been addicted to alcohol, and had said something to Lucius about it before he left England.

He found himself in front of the Floo, powder in hand ready to make a fire-call. A bit of powder seeped from his clenched fingers, causing the Floo to flare green. Lucius took that as a sign and cast the powder in. “Father Ian Cavanaugh, his rectory office.”

Lucius thought the priest might still be up; his ministry did tend to make him work long hours. Lucius said clearly as he stuck his head into the flames, “Hello, Ian?”

The priest answered, his face flushed from some type of Mugglish exertion he practiced to keep himself fit, if Lucius could tell by the beads of sweat on the man’s brow. “I was just working out in the other room when I heard you call. What can I do for you, Lucius?”

“I was just... That is, I wondered how...” Lucius choked on each of the lies he tried to commit. The Muggle had that effect on him. He finally said after moments of Ian’s patient consideration. “I believe I may have a problem with alcohol. I may be... addicted.”

“I’ll come to see you, Lucius. Just let me make arrangements here and I’ll be there tomorrow. You’re on Delos, right?” Ian answered. Lucius wondered idly who had given his hiding place away, but could guess that the creature was Dibby. The priest misinterpretted Lucius' hesitation for exigency. “Can you hang on ‘til then?”

Lucius ran a shaking hand over his face. “I believe I might be able to, but Ian, I have a paramour at the villa. I shouldn’t want to shock you with her presence.”

“You finally gave into to your feelings for Dr. Patil?” Ian asked. “I received a rather odd message from your house-elf about her. I’m glad for you, Lucius. She always seemed to be a nice woman.”

“Good night Ian.” Lucius answered with a scowl. “I shall expect you tomorrow. I should also be interested in seeing the letter from my house-elf. I think there are some things he and I need to discuss.”

“He means well, Lucius,” Ian said. “Oh, and we’ve broken ground on the new facilities. We haven’t named it yet, we wanted your input on that.”

“The Letitia Cavanaugh Centre,” Lucius answered without thought. “Name it after her. She’s the one who saved my son’s life. It’s only fitting.”

“Very well, Lucius.” The Floo fire began to pale. International connections were notorious for failure. “I see our time is up. Goodnight.”

Lucius found himself bidding goodnight to an empty grate and cursing himself for his blasted weakness. He padded back to bed to spend the night awake and trembling as he waited for a drink that could never come.


	11. Hello, My Name is Lucius, and I Am an Alcoholic...

Father Ian Cavanaugh had never been on holiday, not once in his thirty years of service. He felt decidedly odd packing for a destination that seemed so idyllic. Of course, there had been that trip to Rome, but that had been in service to the Parish and really was more business than pleasure. That he was able to take in the sights was an added bonus, but he had spent more hours awaiting confirmation of the funding to establish his mission. If the Bishop had not been in Rome at the time, he would have no doubt spent the time in London

He wondered if Delos was chill or warm this time of year, not that his choice of clothing mattered. He favoured the unassailability of the older-style full collar shirt and Roman cassock in lightweight wool, year round and regardless of climate. He would take a few changes of clothing, just in case Lucius needed him to stay longer than a few days, but his choices were what they were.

He looked at the sardine tin on his bed. Mrs. Tonks had graciously taken him to the port-key office at the Ministry of Magic to travel in wizarding style. He had contacted the older woman once he found that he could not easily obtain more traditional transport to his destination.

Ian Cavanaugh did not travel well.

He was struck anew by the profound difference between the two worlds that most of these wizards took for granted. When Lucius had contacted him, Ian had expected at least a day’s hard travel by aeroplane and then by some type of nausea-inducing sea transport. He had purchased several boxes of Kwells tablets and two boxes of Sea Bands, those little bracelets that were supposed to use some type of acupressure to alleviate travel sickness. Ian put them inside his travel case. Even if he was not going to use traditional transport to the island, he was not sure of the modes of transportation to Lucius’ villa.

He had fire-called Lucius with his itinerary as soon as he purchased the Port-key, and was assured the man would be waiting at the destination when Ian arrived.

He finished packing with one eye to the clock. The Port-key agent had said very clearly that his tin was time-dependant. If he was not holding it at exactly 12:07 this afternoon, it would revert to its non-magical form. The agent had issued the instructions as if she was speaking to a child, and several times Ian thought he might have to say extra prayers for his impatience with the girl. Mrs. Tonks had been even less patient with the her. Ian knew he would have to say at least a decade of his rosary for cheering the witch on, even if the cheer was internal.

It was 12:05 when Ian finished packing. He picked up both his travel case and the tin. He waited for the thing to whisk him away, willing time to pass quickly as if he were once again seven and waiting for his exotic, wizard cousin to disembark from the ferry. He checked his watch, keeping hold of both satchel and tin, and then felt an unfamiliar tugging sensation behind his navel. He lurched to a stand but could find no purchase as he spun in a stomach-churning whirl of colours and sounds. It seemed that the trip might last forever.

He landed in heap on the cobbles of an ancient foreign street. He heaved queasily and then rolled to his feet, trying to stop the cyclic gyration of the world. One of those elf-creatures, dressed in a smart, white bellman’s cap and coat, tentatively reached for Ian as the priest stumbled, and then fell arse over teakettle into a cool, cavernous building. The elf-thing squeaked its alarm as Ian’s satchel gave way, spewing its contents over the entryway. Ian heaved once more, wishing that Catholicism did not frown on petitions for death quite so much.

The first person he noticed, aside from the elf-man-thing, was a large-bellied, dark-eyed fellow who rushed to Ian’s side. The man asked in thickly accented English, “Are you Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“Father,” Ian said over a retching lurch of his stomach.

Before could clarify his statement, the man went into a bout of hand wringing and rapid Greek. Another face entered Ian’s vision, this one female by the lack of mustache and slightly higher-pitched voice. “Meester, you are eel?”

Ian clutched blindly for his bag, wishing Mrs. Tonks had warned him of the dangers inherent in this type of instantaneous travel. He found the Kwells tablets and popped two out of the box, struggling with the blister pack. He heard twin intakes of breath and then more furious Greek spilling about him. He heard the words _magikos okhi_ several times.

He popped the tablets from the pack and placed them on his tongue. A glass of cool water was placed in his hand by the creature and Ian thanked it breathlessly after taking a long draw of water. The creature beamed at him as if he had been given a great boon, but Ian was too ill to think much on the reaction.

A cool, commanding voice cut through the ruckus. Ian could just make out Lucius’ pale-haired elegance through the spinning colours of the room.

&*&*&

Tomas spent his morning mooning about in his pyjamas, silk ones that he had never worn before. He ate more chocolate than was safe to consume and was treated to the sight of the dangerously ripped back muscles of Seamus Finnigan as he strode from the bathroom to his pallet in the parlour wearing nothing more than wet hair and a towel.

As he smelled bacon frying in the kitchen along with the odour of toasted crumpets, Tomas pined for his Auror. He bit into the bitter chocolate as he heard the clatter of pans. He sucked on the crumbs left on his fingers as he heard the man’s soft tread in the hallway.

Finnigan poked his head through the open door, and with that darling half-grin asked, “Decent?”

Tomas wanted nothing more than to tell the Auror to bugger off and find another charity to practice, but he was hungry, thirsty, and more than a little bored. He pulled the bed linens up to his chin with a half-hearted shrug.

Finnigan’s expression clouded. “Now, we can’t have any of that.”

Tomas shrugged again as the Auror brought a heavily laden tray into the room. “Mind if I join you?”

He placed the tray on the bed, and sat on the edge of the mattress. Tomas eyed the food before picking up a crumpet, which was toasted to a turn. “Where did you find these?”

“Oh,” Finnigan said around a mouthful of bacon, swallowing noisily before he continued. “I went to the shop down the street. I didn’t know how to cook most of what you have.”

“Neither do I.” Tomas said. “Padma is the chef; I do carry-out on my nights to cook.”

The two men ate in silence for a moment. Finnigan’s eyes kept darting around the room, taking in the tasteful décor. Tomas sighed, “Ask your questions.”

Finnigan was in the midst of drinking and he gulped the hot liquid too quickly before perching the cup on his knee as he blushed furiously. “I try not t’be that obvious, most of the time.”

“Yes, but you’ve got a real live gay right in front of you,” Tomas said with as much acid as he could summon. The pain from the Muggle operation was making him feel waspish.

Finnigan laughed. “Bulstrode said something, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know what you mean...” Tomas began, but could not suppress the fluttering of his hands, a sure sign he either was in full diva mode, or was lying.

Seamus said, “Bulstrode doesn’t know everything there is to know about me.”

Tomas pushed back into his pillows, a new quivering pain assaulting him that was nowhere near his incision. Finnigan took a bite of bacon, fascinating Tomas with the movement of his jaw muscles and sensual lips. It was going to be a long week.

&*&*&

Lucius Apparated directly to the villa in a panic. Draco would never forgive him if he had broken the priest. These Muggles were just too fragile.

The priest in question clung to Lucius, his face a strange shade of green, his shaven head dotted with a thick sheen of perspiration. As soon as the priest moaned, Lucius bellowed, “Padma! Dr. Patil!”

Lucius half-carried the man to the futon in his own room, trying to remember the Muggle first-aid that Severus had tried to teach him right after he had assumed the duties with the unfortunate women. He thought that he remembered something about blowing into their mouths. He really did not want to do it, especially with the priest. Who knew what strange yearnings a man who had never had sex might have if Lucius were to kiss him. The man moaned and clutched his gut.

There was nothing for it. Lucius licked his lips trying to make the experience as pleasant as possible for the man, even though he knew he himself would not enjoy it. He leaned over the priest, his lips puckered, emitting a thin stream of air as he did.

Ian’s eyes widened in shock as Lucius’ lips touched his. He pushed weakly at the larger man’s chest.

“For Merlin’s sake Lucius, what in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Padma said as she rushed into the room.

Ian had clawed his way past Lucius’ grasp, a look of shocked outrage on his rapidly flushing face. It created an odd look with the green undertone, Lucius thought.

“He’s ill. I was administering Muggle first aid the way Severus taught me.” Lucius answered, his embarrassment making him defensive. “What’s so bloody wrong with that?”

“Severus taught you to snog someone when they’re ill?” Padma’s voice broke with suppressed mirth.

“I was blowing, wasn’t I, Ian?” Lucius rose abruptly, his anger rising.

The priest laughed weakly, and Padma joined him more heartily. Lucius spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, his pride stung.

He paused outside the room, genuine concern for the man overriding his sense of outrage. “Please just fix him, Doctor. Draco will never forgive me if I’ve broken him.”

He swung the door to his room shut, wishing the leather hinges would give him the satisfying sensations of a good, proper-hinged slam. Lucius went to the library and retrieved his last bottle of Ogdens from behind a book on household spells. He really needed a drink to face the afternoon and Ian Cavanaugh.

&*&*&

Padma had liked the bluff Priest as soon as she had met him during Lucius’ stint under her care in the MICU. She watched him now, struggling against the nausea that enveloped him, and considered her options for his care. Lucius had nothing but ordinary wizarding potions at his villa and a few Hangover Cures that might work in a pinch. Ian retched into a rubbish bin and groaned, “I always get ill when I travel. I almost threw up on a _carabiniere_ in the airport in Rome when I travelled there. It was...ugh...quite embarrassing.”

“What have you taken for the travel sickness?” Padma asked as she watched Father Cavanaugh’s eyes droop, obviously from the drug in his system.

Ian sopped at his brow with a handkerchief. “Something from the chemist’s. It’s in my bag.”

Padma retrieved his medicine and read before replacing the box. “I think I might be able to do something for you, if you don’t mind a little magic.”

“If it helps, please,” he groaned.

Padma cast a stasis charm over the man’s inner ear and he moaned at the sudden cessation of the sickening movement. Padma knew the charm would work because she too, suffered from travel sickness, though not as severely as Ian did.

She stood, “Now, just sleep. Once you wake, everything should be back to normal.”

The priest dutifully closed his eyes and Padma left the room. Lucius had told her nothing of Ian’s arrival, and she went in search of the man.

She found him, his long legs spread before him, glass of Ogdens in his hand. He lifted the tumbler to his lips with a quirk of his brow. “I do apologise, Mona Lisa. I was never one to keep my promises.”

She watched him gulp against the fiery trail of the drink, his eyes soulless and cold. She moved into the room and picked up the bottle from beside his feet, trying to suppress her anger and disappointment at his actions. She knew from experience that anger was not what he needed. “Is it that important to you?”

“I suppose so,” Lucius said, as he took another drink. “I drank quite a bit when I was with Narcissa... especially towards the end of the war.”

Padma put the bottle down, and perched on the arm of the chair. “Do you dream?”

“Yes.” He sat forward, nearly unseating her. “Always of... never mind.”

She moved to his lap, situating herself so that most of her body met his torso, her feet perched between his legs. “You know that you have a problem, right?”

Lucius gave a dry chuckle and placed his now empty tumbler on the table next to him. “One of a myriad, but I suppose you’re speaking of the alcohol.”

“Yes.” She put her arm around his shoulders. “I’ve treated more than a few alcoholics, Lucius. It’s not something you want to die from. Please consider getting help.”

“I am,” he answered, and leaned into her arms, placing his head against her shoulder. “My father... he died of drink. I always wondered if I had been a better son...”

She watched as Lucius’ face contorted for a moment before he could mask his pain with the cold persona he had perfected over the years. Padma smoothed her hand over his silky hair. “He beat you.”

Lucius nodded mutely, swallowing against her chest as he did. “Sometimes daily. I vowed to never touch my son and my wife in the way he had... but I failed.”

“You beat Draco?” Padma asked, trying not to think of how many times she had wanted to beat the prat while in school.

“I beat Narcissa, once.” Lucius said. “Then there was the attempted murder.... I never touched Draco. I didn’t have to use a cane to wound him.”

“But your father used one on you...those white scars are from him?” Padma suddenly felt sickened and wanted to heal the hurts of the man she held.

Lucius disregarded her question and said instead, “I continue to disappoint. I am a relic of a bygone era, Mona Lisa. You should allow me to go the way of the dinosaurs.”

Padma kissed his brow, unable to give a response that would be anything but pity-filled.

Lucius leaned away from her, his mouth drawn down at the corners as if he were in pain, a suspicious glitter under his pale lashes. “You should leave. Find that young man that was so adamant about marriage and have many children.”

“And you should take care of yourself and worry less about how I use my ovaries,” Padma shot back tartly. “Why is Ian here?”

“Because he... because I am Lucius and I am an alcoholic. I believe that’s how they worded the statement at the shelter.” Lucius spread his fingers out in supplication, as if asking Padma to understand his weakness. “I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how.”

She knew the admission of his need for help cost him more than he was showing. She leaned on his shoulder, liking his warmth against her skin. “You don’t have to do it alone Lucius. Not anymore.”

He encompassed her in his embrace and they just were two people who cared for each other for a moment.

Nothing more was needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Magikos okhi My attempt at saying ‘no magic’ in Greek using English script. If you are Greek and I have offended, please forgive me.


	12. The First Three Steps Were Hard, But That Fourth One Confused Me...

Two bloody awful days, seven agonising hours, twenty-eight pain-filled minutes and some rather horrifying seconds: that was the amount of time that Lucius had been without alcohol. He had followed the progression of the time with his jerking detoxification, aided in truly sadistic form by Mona Lisa in her capacity as a physician and helped along by the bloody virgin. The priest seemed to understand Lucius’ distress as the alcohol left his system and the detoxification process ravaged him. Mona Lisa just offered Muggle poison tablets and an injection of something called Valium during the worst of what she called DT’s.

Lucius had been an alcoholic a very long time.

It had started while he was still in Hogwarts, the more than occasional drunken binge accompanied by the rather fervent, yet pointless vows of abstinence. Lucius had neither the disposition nor the constitution for teetotalling. It had progressed during his first days as a Death Eater so that he might take the edge off after a particularly nasty duty. During the intervening years, after the Dark Lord’s downfall and before his rise, Lucius had used the excuse of boredom to drink, nostalgically reminiscing about the Bad Old Days when a little Muggle-baiting might help him sleep at night (A lie. He had rarely enjoyed Muggle-baiting; it seemed a little pointless to terrify the creatures without breaking the Statute of Secrecy.)

His tippling had become a raging problem after the Dark Lord’s resurrection. Narcissa covered for him, and Draco too, but he could no longer go without alcohol. He had to have it to function. One might think the inconvenience of Azkaban would solve the problem, but addicts have a bad habit of always finding a way to get their poison, and there had been plenty of suppliers of a certain type of home-brewed, highly toxic wine. Lucius had many things to offer in trade to those vintners. He had continued his long association with alcohol.

Even as he served in Ian’s little hellhole, he had kept a flask handy, always hidden in deference to the priest’s addiction, and always full. His consumption had ramped up during his first days of true freedom to the point at which he found himself now.

Lucius groaned, wishing there were something for the screaming ache of his muscles and the pounding in his head. Mona Lisa poked her head into his room. “I see you’re awake.”

Lucius groaned. He had attempted, on several occasions, to get the doctor to leave his household. She was on holiday, for Merlin’s sake. She had merely given that irritating, professional smile and continued emptying his vomit from the bin beside the bed and cleaning his sheets when they became sweat-soaked. He hated her and loved her at once. He paused... Loved her... a ridiculous notion probably brought on by alcohol-induced dementia.

Lucius sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the futon and easing his head off the pillow. He knew he looked a fright, his hands shook and he had vomited so much he could smell the acid on his breath. Mona Lisa sat on the bed next to him. “I’m proud of you, Lucius. It’s been two days and you haven't asked for alcohol once.”

“I should be over this illness by now, shouldn’t I?” He heard the tremulous query and cursed himself. “Please, darling, would you take yourself off with that young Prudish fellow? You deserve to have better than a working holiday.”

His Mona Lisa scowled. It had been worth another stab to rid himself of the unwanted encumbrance of his guilt at stealing the woman’s holiday. She ran her cool hand over his heated brow. “I know what you’re doing, and you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

She kissed his forehead. “Now up. We’re taking an outing today, and you need to bathe.”

&*&*&

Exploding Snap played with Gay Porn Playing cards, the only kind Tomas owned, was becoming excruciatingly painful. Tomas tried to cover his growing state of desire with the cards, but the damned things went off when Seamus made a play. Every time. The smirking bastard had the much vaunted Luck of the Irish, or he was cheating.

The Auror, for his part, kept his mobile face stiff as he played so Tomas never knew exactly when the stinging explosion would occur over his todger, bringing a mildly painful snap to his crotch and drawing a smirk from Finnigan. The Auror played his hand once more and Tomas cringed, waiting for the explosion to occur. Finnigan licked his lips, an expression of pure joy as he took the suit and the cards went off.

Tomas howled, trying to cover his painful erection with his hand of cards even as they whipped him mercilessly. Finnigan snorted, “I’ve got an idea.”

“What?” Tomas asked, wishing the idea involved some sort of French crème and tongues.

Finnigan moved Tomas’ hand of cards from his lap to a position closer to his chest. “I’ve been winning because I can see your cards.”

"Oh." Tomas frowned.

Finnigan looked at his own cards, smiling broadly as he apparently noticed one of the wizards in the photo waving at him, and not with his hand. Tomas knew they never waved with their hands. Seamus asked, “Why are you so concerned about... you know, your little problem."

"It's not a little problem," Tomas answered in a state of pique and then realised Finnigan was not looking at his excited state, but at his pyjamas, which were buttoned to the top button to cover his wound.

"I think scars on a bloke, especially battle scars, are..." Finnigan flushed. "Sexy."

Tomas gasped as the Auror shifted from his position in the chair beside the bed to a more cosy position next to him. "I-I thought... that is, Officer Bulstrode said..."

"That I hadn't come out?" Seamus gave his little slanted smile. "I came out in seventh year. I just haven't dated much since my partner died."

"I thought you were partners with Harry Potter." Tomas said. He was being deliberately obtuse to prove a point about teasing him.

Finnigan rested his head on his knuckles as he stretched out on the bed beside Tomas. "Yeah, Harry's my work partner, but I meant my life-partner and you know it."

Tomas relaxed into the curve of Finnigan's thigh, letting his leg drift closer the man's firm body. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's ancient history, really." Finnigan sighed. "We became close during the year under the Carrows. I tutored him while he waited in the Room of Requirement, and he tended me after they tortured me. You know, match made in hell and all... I told him he should've stayed away, but he had this real Gryffindor ethic when it came to Harry Potter."

"What was his name?" Tomas asked, not really wanting to hear more about the man who took Seamus' heart, but thinking he should ask anyway.

"Colin Creevey," Finnigan answered, his voice softly reverent. "He was an irritating little mite when he first got to Hogwarts. Muggle-born and already in awe of Harry Potter. I never gave him a second thought until he turned up in Hogwarts that last year. He shouldn't have. If the Carrows had found him... Padma and Bulstrode kept him hidden. He was always a brave lad."

Tomas had spent the war doing much the same thing, hiding in Muggle establishments, not doing magic. He could understand the need to do something. Tomas had done what he could. He healed the various refugees he came across, some of them brought to him by shadowy figures he was sure were high-ranking Death Eaters, even worked with the WHO doctors and Healers that had come from different parts of the globe to render aid. He broke from his reverie as Finnigan spoke again. "I hadn't considered myself homosexual until Colin kissed me the first time. I mean, I thought some blokes looked good to me, but... anyway, he kissed me because I was injured. I think the Muggles call it the Florence Nightingale effect... I don't think he meant to do it, but when he did, I liked it. I made sure I always had time to come see him after that..."

As Seamus took a deep breath, Tomas ran his hand over the man's wavy hair, letting his nails scrape his scalp softly. The Auror said, "That feels good."

"You haven't been with anyone since him?" Tomas asked, feeling decidedly tawdry with all his sexual exploits.

Finnigan gave a puff of laughter, blowing on the thin sheet that covered Tomas' leg, raising goose bumps. "I'm not a monk, man. I've had other men, just none I wanted to settle with."

"Oh." Tomas said, his voice small. The man of his dreams was once again unobtainable. "Well, I'm hungry. Perhaps we could have some soup and salad today from the...Mmmph."

Finnigan lunged forward, catching Tomas' lips in a searing kiss, his tongue invading the older man's mouth hungrily. Tomas' heart crashed against his ribs, beating in rhythm to Finnigan's rough thrusts, his desire evident in the way he ran his hands over Tomas' aching body. Silva had not been snogged like this since... forever.

Seamus drew away, and with that half-smile of his said, "It's been a while since anyone has made me want to be with them for more time than it takes to get my nut. Now, shut it about the food. I can think of better things to do with me mouth."

For once, Tomas did as he was told.

&*&*&

Dibby was watching the Blood-god's priest with growing anger. Since the non-bonded man had come to the villa, Master Lucius and Mistress Doctor Patil had not done wizardy-bonding one time.

Master Lucius had been ill since the Blood-god's priest had come. Dibby had checked Master Lucius for all the common poisons, and upon finding none in his system, had checked him for the less common ones. Dibby went through the Blood-priest’s luggage and found a strange set of tablets and he tested those, but they had only been sleeping draught tablets, and not very strong ones.

Dibby righted everything and made his way out of the room. He would need to act to get rid of the priest and he knew what he must do...

&*&*&

Padma tried not to listen to the soft voices coming from the library. Lucius needed to understand the programme he would be undertaking, now that he was sober. She knew the concepts that the priest would introduce to the pure-blood would be utterly foreign to him. He did not seem the most spiritually inclined man. She heard her name mentioned and tried to appear as if she had not been eavesdropping, even if the action had been nominal at the very most.

Ian opened the library door. "Padma, Lucius has requested you be in here for this portion, if you would."

The priest looked chagrined at the thought of a non-participant entering the sacrosanct world of the addicted, but she followed him into the room. She wondered when she had become so important to Lucius, and questioned his place in her life. She thought she might be a little in love with him, even in his bleary-eyed, quaking state. Perhaps his illness brought out the nurturing mother in her. She would examine her feelings once this holiday was over and she was safely away from his magnetic pull.

Lucius stood at the window, his back to her. He appeared to be gazing sternly out at the rocky beach, but Padma was getting used to watching the little gestures he made that betrayed his state of mind. He was tapping a rhythm on the window pane. He heard her enter and without turning said, "It is good of you to join us, Mona Lisa. Ian and I were just discussing an interesting proposition."

Padma crossed to him, touching his back and noting the taut muscles. He turned to her, his expression bleak. "He has explained to me that I will have to apologise for my past misdeeds, and I was wondering how you might think I could accomplish that. You know our world better than he does."

His lips twisted in a sneer as he regarded the priest. He continued, "Should I start with the many Muggle victims, or perhaps the families of the rape victims I could not save. I could lead them to the cave where Severus and I entombed them after their untimely demise... Perhaps, Draco and Narcissa should be first, or Mrs. Potter. I was the one who introduced her to the Dark Lord, albeit unknowingly. Or perhaps Mr. Potter for the death of his parents, not done by my hand, but I did bring the instrument of their death into the Dark Lord's fold."

"Lucius..." Ian began as Lucius jerked away from Padma's grasp.

Malfoy laughed, a bitter and cold sound in the heat of the day. "Do not presume to think that I am as pure in motive or deed as my son, Ian. I have lived a lifetime of murder, mayhem, and destruction. I was weaned on pain from the time my mother died by my father's hand."

Lucius turned to Padma. "Did I tell you that I saw him beat her to death? I was eight. Of course, his money and position covered the facts and I was left with him as a role model."

Padma returned his gaze, unflinching in her regard. "You are better than he was, Lucius. You know that."

He answered her with a derisive snort and then turned back to the scene outside, his face once again covered by the cool aristocratic facade he projected so well. "I shall think on what you say, Ian. Do not expect my answer to be a positive one."

Ian bowed his head, his pate gleaming in the weak sunlight spilling through the open window. "I am sorry, Lucius. I can't imagine having to face the demons that greet you everyday. You remind me so much of... It's no matter, Lucius, the principle is sound, but let your conscience guide you."

Lucius merely raised a contemptuous brow and scowled. "A Malfoy's conscience is seated in his sense of self-preservation, Ian. If you rely on that, you might be waiting a very long time."

Padma laughed, the sound breaking like a sheet of glass over the silence. "You might think that, Lucius, but I think you'll surprise yourself. Now, I think we had an outing planned. Ian, have you got your swim trunks?"

The priest blushed. "I thought I might set this one out, Doctor. I shall join you for tea."

"Very well," Padma answered turning to Lucius. "You, go get in yours. I'll meet you out on the terrace."

&*&*&

Lucius picked his way across the rocky substrate, wishing for the sun to quit shining so brightly. He knew he had been a bastard to Ian, but could not help but justify his position. Giving up alcohol did not automatically make him a better person, and as long as Ian realised that, they might come to an understanding. His Mona Lisa walked beside him, her long black hair flowing in the streaming breeze. She smiled up at him, her sable eyes sparkling as if with some private joke.

She took his hand the act itself, a surprise. In the thirty or so years of marriage to Narcissa, she had only taken his hand once and that had been when she was giving birth to Draco. He had bitten back a scream as she ground his fingers together and told him in no uncertain terms that the act of birth, should it be repeated, would be carried out by him.

He found he liked his little doctor's fingers clasping his. Her palm fit nicely against his and the fingers caressed him. She drew him along to two beach chairs situated on an escarpment that had been cleared by some Malfoy in the dim and misty. Lucius sat on one and she eschewed hers to straddle his lap, positioning her moistening core over his lengthening desire. She kissed him, open mouthed and hungrily.

After a long and rather pleasant interlude in which Lucius somehow ended up over his temptress, grinding his length into her bikini-clad heat, she stroked his face and said, "I've missed you."

"You are the most irritating, exhilarating woman I have ever met." Lucius ground out as he supported himself over her. She moved slightly, leading his thoughts to more carnal pleasures. "Why did you choose to stay, when you could be having the holiday you so well deserve?"

She smoothed her hand over his fly-away hair and then down his neck and his shoulders, leaving a burning trail as she progressed. "This."

He felt a hand grasping his length and another pushing at his trunks frantically and all thoughts, noble or otherwise fled as he slid into her with a sigh. They strove against each other until she cried out in completion and he joined her. He thought she might have sighed words of love into his neck, but his own pounding rhythm occupied his total attention.

They dozed after a cursory cleansing charm and the righting of various articles of clothing.

&*&*&

 

Dibby cast the necessary charms as Master and Mistress Doctor joined. He watched in rapidly growing joy as the silver and the blue of their essences combined to make a wholly new colour.

There would be a new generation of Malfoys for which to care.

&*&*&

Tomas woke in Finnigan's arms, fully clothed and completely frustrated. The man had insisted that Tomas was in no state to accept his rather heated advances and had brought the erotic explorations to a crashing halt as he turned over and fell to sleep. Tomas joined him. It had been years since he had allowed himself the luxury of falling asleep in a man's arms, and he had never done it without the shagging.

Finnigan stirred. "I go back to work tomorrow. Will you be able to shift for yerself, or should I get a nurse?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Tomas protested, even as his heart swelled with burgeoning infatuation.

Seamus opened his eyes with a beatific smile. "I trust that's a no."

"A definite no. I'm a Healer, I know how to care for myself," Tomas answered with at pout. Seamus leaned over and kissed it off his face until the definite rumble of his stomach caused them both to laugh.

Seamus slipped his hand to Tomas' bum, snugging him closer as he whispered, "Let's get you showered and dressed and I'll take you out. We'll call it our first date."

Tomas complied with his wishes without a thought, for the second time that day. That's when he knew he was in serious trouble. He was in love with the Auror.

&*&*&

Pradesh watched the two from his vantage. The fucking bitch was cheating on him. He summoned his owl. Since his Muggle thug's attack on the poof she lived with had brought no results, he would need to arrange for something a little more permanent.

He needed to rid the world of Malfoy, and soon.


	13. Letters

_Padma Darling,_

_It's been a fortnight since you left and not so much as a postcard from you. I was intrigued when the International Owl Carrier Service returned my first letter, saying you were no longer at that horrid little hostel you chose to inflict upon yourself. (Please, darling, tell me, didn't you take a Knut of Daddy's money to make this trip? Can we spell martyr?) So, I am directing this owl to find you rather than go to where you said you would be. Does this mean you're having a grand time with some shipping magnate's son? Do tell!_

_Things have happened here that might surprise you. I won't go into details now, but let's just say that my knight in shining armour has finally arrived, rescued me, and swept me off my feet, and all in one fell swoop. He's also insisting that we take it slowly, so no shagging until we know each other better. What a change for me, the shaggingest queen in East London! He's an Auror and what a body. I didn't say I hadn't peeked! A girl can only take so much before she must satisfy her curiosity, whether it kills her or not._

_So, darling, I must make this short. It's my first day back to work after a short, forced holiday. I hope you are shagging your brains out with some hot young thing with limpid brown eyes and a magnificent tan. Oh, and straight white teeth. See? I know your type._

_Oh, and one other thing. I heard through the gossip network that a certain doctor to whom you have an aversion has been absent from his post at St. Mungo's. I hope he's not giving you problems. Really, sweetie, if the prat shows up, you should let him see you shagging your current paramour (or is it more than one? How delish if you are having a threesome like in that film we saw before you left. All I ask is for DETAILS, even if it is hetero and vanilla compared to my wild and varied past.) It might put the prat off of you, although I have my doubts. Pradesh has stalker written all over him._

_Okay, more dishing when you return._

_Ta love,_

_Tomas_

&*&*&

_Tomas you ungrateful wretch,_

_You are impossible. Who are you seeing? When did this happen? And why have you been off work? You just took a holiday after that German threw you over for the little drag queen and you were so depressed. Your letters are horribly uninformative for someone who likes to share too much most times._

_I am staying at a villa with a friend. He is handsome, not all that young, fabulously wealthy, and is getting a nice tan. That is all you get since you have been so closed mouth about your own_ affaires de couers _(for once, anyway.)_

_I know Pradesh is here. I was forced to spend dinner between him and my companion one evening. It was an atrocious affair, and I think he finally took the message that I am not interested in him to heart. I have not seen him since._

_I will be back in London on the 29th. Write me back and let me know what you want from Greece. I picked up a nice boy for you in the gift shop, but since you are in love, I had to send him back with apologies. Thank the gods they had a refund policy. I never would have used him. He was too gay._

_Ta to you love,_

_Padma_

&*&*&

_Dear Lucius,_

_I do apologise for the way we parted. I have regrets. I shall be in Italy on Saturday at the little villa where our families finalised our marriage contracts. Please Lucius, let me know if we can meet. I have many things I wish to say to you._

_Cissy_

&*&*&

_Narcissa,_

_Unfortunately, I am unable to leave Delos for at least a fortnight. Please feel free to contact me at my father's villa. I shall do my best to clear time for a meeting at the Grand. If that is acceptable, Floo or write with the date and time you wish to meet._

_LAM_

&*&*&

Lucius sat in the library, newly restored with a second-hand desk and an imposing leather chair. He sat at said desk, running his hands nervously through his hair, creating rills in the normally board-straight blond mass. A gull called raucously outside, and he was distracted from the parchment before him. He watched the bird's progression through the shells washed up from last evening's storm. It bounced from mollusc to mollusc pecking at the tightly shut creatures. Lucius thought about going outside and pitching the mussels back into the still cloudy water, but could not be moved by their plight. The bloody things were, after all, simply rocks that shat and tasted nice with lemon. Who could really care about such creatures?

The gull pounced on a shell and gave another ear-piercing cry as it pulled mussel carrion from a barely open shell. Lucius watched until the chiming of the clock interrupted his procrastination. He scowled, and like the student he had been, diligent when he could find no one else to do the work, he turned his attention to the blank parchment.

He sat his ink-filled quill to the surface and drew the first word:

_Dear..._

He peered thoughtfully at the word and then put aside the quill. It was cut in an inferior manner. He carefully emptied the tip of ink and retrieved his pen-knife from the interior of the desk. He tested the blade against his finger, thinking it could be sharper, but cut the tip of the quill expertly with it.

He refilled the quill and wrote the next word:

_Mrs._

The tone was all wrong for the type of document he wished to write. He cast an erasure charm and began again.

_To whom it may concern:_

No, that would not do. He sounded like an irate consumer wishing to report a defective product. He had never written this type of letter before and was at a loss. His mind simply would not supply the correct words for what he needed to express. He cast the erasure charm again and leaned back in his chair after carefully placing his newly sharpened quill on the table at just the right angle. Lucius did not like disorder.

He closed his eyes, trying to visualise the sentiments he wished to convey. Ian swore by the Muggle technique. Lucius saw the woman reading the letter, saw her brows drawn down in anger, saw her hatred and revulsion at his name on the parchment, and then finally saw her cast the same letter in the fireplace as she let loose a bit of Fiendfyre. Yes, this letter certainly was an exercise in futility.

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, causing bits of light and dark to coalesce into a random pattern, quite pretty, really. He must remember to ask Mona Lisa why eyes did that when they were under pressure. He also wondered if perhaps his brain was doing the same thing as he began the arduous process of living without liquor.

The gull called again, this time farther up the beach. Lucius strode to the terrace and down the steps leading to the beach. The mussels needed saving.

&*&*&

_Dear Father,_

_I was surprised to hear that you had gone to Delos. I never remember that being a favourite spot of yours. Perhaps things have changed though._

_I am writing to tell you that we have found Severus. We have located him in a small town in the wilds of Oklahoma, called Newalla. We shall be heading there tomorrow to see him._

_I spoke with him briefly over the telephone yesterday. He sounds well and much less Snapeish, if you know what I mean. He actually laughed when I told him of our misadventures in finding him in such a large land._

_American wizards are much more relaxed about certain attitudes that we held sacrosanct. They drive rather than Apparate, they have creatures called Brownies that are like free house-elves with a certain amount of Yank attitude. Their views on blood are generally rather amorphous. Race seems to be a larger issue in this nation._

_Potter has been a godsend in this situation. His Muggle background has allowed us to explore more of American culture than just the wizarding portion. I have become a fan of Professional Wrestling even though Potter informs me it is all a show._

_I shall inform you of Severus' condition after we meet tomorrow._

_On a different note, Ian tells me he has joined you. Thank you for giving Ian a break from his duties. The man could give Snape a lesson on self-sacrifice. Perhaps he did, though. You did know that they are first cousins on his father's side, didn't you?_

_Take care of yourself, father. I should like to have a long discussion with you when I return to England. I suppose you will be at the Manor?_

_Your son,_

_Draco_

_PS: Liz, Scorpius and Toby send their love. Why did you leave London so quickly?_

_Draco_

_PPS: I now own an authentic Cowboy Hat from an authentic Cowboy shop called Teners. This part of America is certainly interesting. Would you care for one?_

&*&*&

_Lucius,_

_I shall meet you. I will be arriving on Delos on Saturday. Please do not bring your paramour with you. I shall not bring mine. I will be in room 225. Shall we say noon?_

_Cissy_

&*&*&

Lucius folded the letter with shaking hands. The deed was done, at least for this one person. He had a thousand more letters of apology to write for his misdeeds.

Gods, he needed a drink.

He searched his desk and found what he looked for in the hidden compartment he had created just for that purpose. He pulled a bottle of clear amber liquid from it. It was an inexpensive Muggle brand, all he could get from his contact on the continent. His hands shook as he unscrewed the lid and then brought it to his lips.

His eyes slid to the address on the parchment, and he recapped the bottle without a taste of the oblivion it promised. He had done enough damage to himself, did he really need to commit more?

He slid the bottle back into the compartment and cast a freshening charm over his clothes, worse for wear after his attempts to save the molluscs. Who knew that when the animals were under stress they would send a stream of foul, piscine-tainted water from their extended siphons? Lucius certainly hadn't.

He took the long way to the village. Padma and Ian would not be back from Athens for hours. He had time.

Once there, he approached the Owl Post office and paced in front of it. Visualising the end that he wanted, he was still assailed by doubt and a growing sense of unfamiliar remorse. Perhaps he would wait until tomorrow, when Mona Lisa might drop the letter for him. It would certainly be easier that way.

Once again, he looked at the envelope and once again, his resolve strengthened. He strode through the door and chose his owl.

&*&*&

_Dear Flea,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Your mother and your sister are off buying things for the baby, so I took this quiet time to write to you._

_I have heard disturbing things about your flatmate. It seems he was attacked a fortnight or so ago by a Muggle. The MLE officer, whom I spoke with, an Officer Bulstrode, seems to believe you might have been the target._

_Flea, as you requested, I have not told your mother of your attack. I feel as if I have made a grave error. I am concerned for your safety._

_I heard that Lucius Malfoy was seen on Delos not long after you arrived there. Do you think he might have been involved in this matter somehow? If you should see him, steer clear of him for my peace of mind. He may have reformed by the end of the war, but he is still a Death Eater, and in my book, still dangerous. I know you treated him during his incarceration, and I know you felt he needed a friend, but he has his family, at least his son, to support him. Do you really think he needs you, also?_

_I just want you to be safe, Flea. That is all I ever wanted._

_Perhaps, if you are lonely when you return, you might consider going to the wizarding dating site your cousin, Devi, has started. She has had great success in placing several of her school chums with likely wizards. Just consider it, Flea, I want to see you happy._

_Love,_

_Bapa_

&*&*&

_Darling,_

_Would the wizard you are seeing in Delos be a former Death Eater that captured your fancy only a few months ago? Oh, girl, if it is... I sit here shaking my head in consternation and diva-like concern. When will you learn that the upper classes just aren't for people like us? And a former Death Eater to boot! Does he know just how Indian wizarding families work? He might not like it. I can just see you scowling at me with that little wrinkle between your brows (how many times have I warned you that some expressions DO stay that way, like our mothers warned us?) Don't get me wrong. He's a great fling. If, before I met my special man, I thought he swung my way, I would have given him a ride, or at least a blow. Men just out of prison are so needy and explosive, I've heard._

_But seriously, Padma, what would your family say if you brought him home for Dipwali or for a Sunday dinner? Your father was always staunchly (if a little quietly) against what the entire Death Eater business stood for. I'm just saying... be careful. You always fall, and hard. I don't want to have to pick you up after he leaves you for a pure-blood brood mare. It all smacks of Justin again._

_I will give you a hint about my true love. He knows you from Hogwarts, he was in your year, and he is NOT Harry Potter._

_Ta and kisses,_

_Tomas_

&*&*&

_Dear Mrs. Potter,_

_I write to you today to apologise for the great wrong I did to you. I make no excuses. As an adult, I should have known better than to thrust a Dark object in your posessions. I should have considered the consequences of my actions on you._

_I have always been a proud man, some might call it arrogance. I don't know what my attitude truly is, just that it is native to me, instilled by a father who was more concerned for appearances than for his son. I do not impart this information to garner sympathy. As I write you, I can envision several scenarios, all of them ending with you tossing this letter in the fire and cursing my name. I shall tell you, I do deserve your anger, your scorn and your foulest curses._

_As I said before, I do apologise. Had I known what I gave to you, whose soul I exposed you to, I would never have endangered you. What I did, though disgusting, was done, at least in part, in ignorance._

_At the time, I was drinking rather immoderate amounts of alcohol and my thought processes were not clear. It does not excuse me. In fact, in my books it damns me even more that I could consider such a nefarious plan, under the influence of such a mind altering substance that I willingly imbibed. And for what, you might ask?_

_I harmed you to do away with my son's rival, a person that spoke volumes about the flaw in the ideology I not only embraced, but also instilled in my son as well. I was never out to harm you, though I did. I wanted to harm Hermione Granger. I wanted to do away with the obstacle to my bigoted peace. I also wanted to brush your family with the same Dark taint that pervaded mine. Now that I write that, it sounds even more disgusting. I was and always will be a flawed man with certain prejudices. I, however, can learn from my mistakes and grow out of my assumptions._

_Yours is the first letter I write because the harm I caused you was the greatest. Yes, I have committed murders, but most were done in the heat of battle. The harm I did you was done in cold-blood and with malice, though the malice was not directed toward you._

_I spent two stints in Azkaban for my crimes and deserved both of them._

_I do not ask for your forgiveness. It is not my place to ask, and even if you granted it, it is my nature to regard such sentiments as prompted by less than noble feelings. Perhaps I should not have written that, but again, I am my father's son, and he taught me to regard softer sentiments with some mistrust. I simply ask that before you destroy this letter, you think on my words. Should you have any questions or wish to make a reply, please do so. I shall neither fault you for any vituperation, nor shall I think less of you if you wish to remain silent._

_Again, I am truly repentant for the pain and fear I caused you and your family. I owe you a great debt. If you should need anything, if it is my power to grant it, just tell me._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

&*&*&

Lucius took the same winding path back to the villa, anticipating another long evening spent in conversation with Ian, and then an even longer session of lovemaking with Mona Lisa.

His tread became lighter thinking of the woman who had come to mean so much to him in such a short time. Spending time with her heated his blood and made him act foolishly. For once in his life, he didn't care. He enjoyed her laugh, her smile, her solemn moments, and the way she filled the empty spots in his mind, heart and soul. If he were a less pragmatic man, he might name the emotions she evoked love. He would not go that far. He was infatuated, intoxicated, and in lust with the little doctor. He loved the way his body filled hers and the way she welcomed him, as if she protected the small part of Lucius that was still the boy that he had been, rather than the monster he had become.

He stopped, as if struck dumb, blind and stupid on the spot.

He loved her.

He _loved_ her.

_He_ loved _her_.

In his locked and warded secret heart, he felt a fluttering of hope. Surely if she evoked these feelings in him, she might possibly be induced to feel the same for Lucius. With all his flaws, his arrogance, and his new found sense of guilt, he was still the same young man who all those years ago, harboured hopes of a love match with his future wife. It was ridiculous really, but hope he did. He began walking again, heading to a villa that had, in the last fortnight, become home to him.

As he reached the villa, he heard David Bowie crooning in his resounding baritone about a lonely alien named Ziggy Stardust. Lucius identified with the song for the first time. He smiled as he peered up from the ground, watching his new love dance to the song.

If he had been more attuned to his Death Eater self, he might have heard the soft scuffle of feet on rocks as a curse was cast that laid him out, near death, on the rocky beach with the molluscs and the gulls. He might have seen his attacker approach for the killing blow, and he might have been gratified to hear his love's cry of despair as she saw his body and the retreating shadow of his attacker.

Lucius was a changed man, for better and for worse.


	14. Dibby's Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was beta-read by Jilliane. I think I caught all the mistakes she pointed out, but don't blame her if I didn't. Special thanks to zareenyn for her help with the Hindi words in this chapter. I hope I got them right.

Lucius struggled to take a breath as he felt Padma hovering over him. He coughed, a feeble sound against the rushing of blood in his ears. He tried to open his eyes, but the muscles would not respond. Panic lanced through him along with a large dose of pain. What the bloody hell had he been hit with?

He felt a spell wash over him and then a smooth lift-off from the rocky substrate. Mona Lisa was saying something to another figure, dimly back-lit from the witch lights in the villa. The voice answered back and Lucius felt a sense of calm even as his love let loose a steady stream of curse words best reserved for Knockturn Alley. Lucius attempted to speak, but he was locked in his mind, just as he had been before in... the grey place with bars and sadness.

He heard a moan and felt a trickle of wet heat spreading from his crotch. Mona Lisa cursed again, as they reached the... house with the lights. Lucius wondered whose it was and why he was so ill...

It must be hers, this woman who had rescued him from the grey place. He loved her, but that was all he knew before darkness swallowed him.

&*&*&

"Healer Silva, you have a visitor." The stern-faced receptionist said as she popped her head around the doorway. It was Tomas' second day back and one day from Saturday, the day that he and Seamus were to start getting more familiar with one another. Tomas only hoped his new beau meant physically.

The Healer had never been around a man who caused such desire to flow through him. Of course, the years of meaningless shagging aside, when Tomas had fallen into slavish infatuation before, he had not felt the same rush of joy at seeing his new lover's face, and had not experienced the same aching tenderness under his lover's hands. It scared Tomas witless, as unflappable as he tried to appear around the Auror. What if, when they finally made love, he lost the hot rush of desire? Would that diminish his feelings for gentle, patient, perfectly rapturous Seamus? As much as he wanted them to enter into a more physical relationship, he balked at breaching that last barrier.

What if Seamus didn't feel the same way for him afterwards?

Tomas put aside the book he was consulting on a skin condition in a young Hag who had come to him for treatment. His was a strictly cash business, not covered by the Ministry's universal health-care, but often he took on particularly interesting cases for reduced rates. Hags were not known for their wealth. This Hag had approached him after a consultation with St. Mungo's had left her with no other options. Her penury was obvious as she wore a dress that had obviously been handed down for years. Her shoes were worn and scuffed and she had a hungry, envious way that she looked at the wealthy and idle witches who frequented his practice, that could not be faked. The Hag was poor, and Tomas took pity on her.

Tomas had never been particularly fond of Hags, they tended to see too much that one did not want known, and were just god awful hideous. This girl was one of the type of Hags termed a Queen. She was quite pretty without the distinctive pointed chin and hooked nose. She even had all her teeth. From what Tomas understood of the Hag's socio-biological make-up, the women fell into two categories; those who served the hive in whatever way they could, much like workers in an insect colony, and those who bred for the hive. The little Queen had presented in his office with a case of warts that had somehow run amok threatening to ruin the looks she would use to seduce unsuspecting Muggle or wizard into impregnating her. Somehow, her body would undergo fertilisation of all her eggs and she would store them in her ovaries, keeping the zygotes in stasis until she could deliver them safely. Her life after impregnation would consist of a series of gestations. Not an enviable life, but it did ensure the continuation of her species. The only reason Tomas knew so much about them is that he had written his thesis on them. He had been duly impressed by their biological adaptation to their very unappealing looks. Of course, this type of near parthenogenic reproduction was not unknown in the animal kingdom, but was unique among mammals. It seemed the entire weight of her hive's existence rested on her luminously pale, now lumpy shoulders.

"Healer Silva?" the receptionist said again, irritation limning her pointed features. Tomas sometimes wondered if she possibly had some Hag in her background.

Shaking off the uncharitable thought, he stood, traversing the hall, nodding to his workmates who hovered over him as if he were made of glass. It made Tomas uncomfortable being reminded so often of the reason for his recent absence. He hoped things would be back to normal by the time Padma returned in a week. He would never be able to put the whole incident behind him if no one else cared to let him.

Seamus sat in the waiting room, looking dashing in his Auror's robes, his grey-blue eyes set off by the dark blue of his uniform. He stood as the receptionist took her seat behind her glass and steel fortress. She sniffed and began filing, as if a mere civil servant were beneath her notice. Once Seamus saw Tomas, he bestowed that slow smile, the one that caused his eyes to sparkle outrageously, on Tomas and greeted him with a chaste kiss. Tomas noted, with some degree of irritation, the woman behind the desk clearing her throat. He pulled Seamus to his office, loving the way his hand felt against the rough texture of the Auror's. Once behind closed doors, he turned to Seamus and captured his lips in a heated kiss. He drew the embrace out into a full assault, causing Seamus to groan and grind his girth against Tomas.

Tomas sank to his knees as he began undoing the buttons of Seamus' trousers. Finnigan moaned, spurring Tomas' efforts to release his lover from the confines with even greater urgency. Seamus breathed, "Love, stop. Not this way, not here."

"But I want to," Tomas pouted, but with a glance up at Seamus' solemn face he desisted, even though he was shaking with need. Finnigan sank to his knees, taking Tomas in his arms, his breathing heavy.

"Love, when I take you, I want it to be special, not rushed and tawdry. We have time for that, but the first... I want you to know how special you are." He drew Tomas into the strong band of his muscular arms and up into his lap, soothing Silva with soft kisses to his brow, face and neck. "Damn me if I don't want you."

"I love you." Tomas felt the words slip from his mouth as if they had been pulled from his gut. He winced. "I know it sounds mad, but I do. I'm sorry."

Finnigan sighed gustily. "I don't know why you're sorry, or you think it's mad. I feel the same. If I didn't want somethin' special wi' you, I'd have already taken what I wanted and left, you daft prick."

"You are such a sweet-talking bastard, Seamus Finnigan." Tomas laughed shakily. "Will I see you tonight?"

Seamus looked away, his brow furrowed. "That's the thing, Love. I've been called away for an investigation. Lucius Malfoy's been attacked. The priest that he was given probation with called last night."

Tomas stilled. "I'm going with you."

"No, you're not." Seamus answered. "It's an official investigation, and dangerous."

"I have to." Tomas twisted in Seamus' arms, levering himself from the Auror's lap. "Padma has been seeing him. She'll need me there."

Seamus followed him to his feet, his expression thunderous. "How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know." Tomas retreated. "Does it matter?"

Finnigan rolled his shoulders forward. "Thought she had better taste, is all."

"I know her, and I know that she sees some good in him, or she wouldn't be with him." Tomas brushed Seamus' hand. "I won't be a bother, but I need to be there."

Finnigan sighed, "You can handle it? You're just over your attack and all..."

"Don't worry about me, love. I'm tougher than you think." Tomas kissed him again, this time supplicating and sweet. "They're still on Delos, right?"

"They're in Athens," Finnigan answered with a rueful smile. "I should have known you would know everything about the situation. You do love a good gossip."

He gave Tomas a chaste kiss. "I must be off. Meet me at the Portkey office at four if you're intent on going. I don't want you traipsing off by yourself. I think you both might be in some danger."

&*&*&

Dibby hated.

He hated with such intensity that it took all the Elf Mother's will to restrain him from doing harm to the human that had harmed Master. That same human had cast a spell on Dibby that still made him ill. He was also sickened by thinking of how he had failed Master in his time of need. It was the last in a long line of shameful failures for Dibby, and once he had been revived by Mistress Dr. Patil, he had wept copious tears. It was only when he found out how badly Master was injured that he had felt the first flush of hatred. It had settled in his gut like dust on a bunny.

He paced the interior of the room he had been imprisoned in at the Temple, his magic crackling off of his body in lightning sheets. It did not help that the Temple elves had been sent to find the evil man, and that he would be tried and sentenced by elf magic before being turned over to the human Aurors that would soon descend on the island. It did not help that Mistress Doctor was, right now, working on Master as Dibby languished in the cell. He stamped his foot and the earth under Delos rumbled. He tried to Apparate away and the wards, though stretched to their limit, held. He stumbled back to the earth and screamed the tides in, early and high.

The door to the room opened and Elf Mother stepped in, her diaphanous clothing swinging on her thin body like cobwebs, her skin the colour of earth and wrinkled with age. She cast a calming spell over the room with a scowl as she said, "Your master's attacker has been found. Calm yourself and you may watch the proceedings. You are disturbing the elements too much and the humans are making noticing noises."

Dibby bowed, his ears and nose scraping the floor. "Dibby is ready, Elf Mother. Please forgive this elf the extremity of his emotions. Dibby has failed Master and will gladly accept any punishment..."

Dibby broke off, tears of disgrace and anger dripping from his eyes to the tip of his nose. Elf Mother said sternly, “Your punishment will be passed after the human's trial. You have disgraced elf-kind with your inability to protect your master and your meddling in his affairs."

"Yes, Mother." Dibby bowed, if possible, even lower. "Dibby accepts his fate. Dibby will do whatever the Elf Mother and her courts says. Dibby is a bad house-elf. Dibby wishes he were dead."

Elf Mother pulled him from the floor with an impatient flick of her forefinger. "If Dibby were dead, who would look after his Master and the little one Dibby made against our orders? Dibby has caused enough harm without adding more with his death wishes and bad thoughts."

The younger elf sobbed silently and followed the Elf Mother out of the room. His fate, and that of his Master's attacker, awaited the judgement of the Elvish High Court.

&*&*&

Padma was pouring over books in the Athenian Ministry Library. Her frantic search for any mention of a spell that caused rapid memory loss and metabolic degeneration had begun at dawn, after she had grabbed only a few hours of sleep. She had stabilised Lucius on the flight from Delos to Athens, aiding the paramedic Healers that had flown by charmed helicopter from the Greek capital.

She had spent the night alternating between the coffee machine and his bedside, monitoring his vitals, recording every change, and worrying. Several heavily accented mediwitches assumed she was his wife and she let them. It was easier than explaining the situation to them, and if she was really truthful with herself, it was comforting. He woke several times, his gaze unfocused, his mouth working with no sound issuing from his lips. She smoothed his brow, gave him ice chips, and spoke softly to him, all with a sense of _déjà vu_. She had been at his bedside before, after all.

She pushed the last book in the pile away from her, frustrated to the point of screaming. She ran through what she saw of the attack, the flash of strangely familiar sickly purple light, the shadowy attacker, the panic that caused her almost to fly to his side. She just wished she had been aware enough to hear even part of the incantation. The spell colour was so familiar, but she just could not place where she had seen it before.

She sighed, thanking the heavens for the Muggle priest's calm. Ian had been the one to firecall InterAur, and Ian was the one, even now, dealing with the investigators on Delos and contacting Lucius' family. Padma merely sat and watched, sat and read, or sat and fretted. She was utterly useless.

She slammed the book closed, drawing a look of consternation from the only other occupant of the library at this late an hour, a young Turk in his country's distinctive robes. He scowled and returned to his reading, his lips moving as he did. _Oaf._

She looked at her watch; a silver circle with a mother of pearl face, her father had given it to her on her seventeenth birthday. It seemed so long ago.

She rose abruptly from her seat and cursed as the pile of books slid from the tabletop. The young man stood and strode to her as she bent to retrieve them, stifling sobs as she did.

He said in stilted English, "Miss, might I be able to help you?"

Padma shook her head mutely, willing the man to leave before she lost control of her emotions. How had a holiday fling come to mean so much?

A tear plopped onto the back of her hand and she shook herself mentally, berating herself for letting her emotions have free reign when someone one needed her.

"Miss?" the man asked again. "I am an assistant archivist, perhaps if I knew for what spell you looked..."

"I don't know. I'm sorry." Padma rose as gracefully as she could with tears swimming in her vision, an armful of books, and nothing but caffeine keeping her awake.

The man looked at the books before him. "Perhaps... These are all Western spell books. Have you considered looking in another region? The Mediterranean has many magical traditions that are used commonly. I assume from your reading that you are searching for a counter-curse for a loved one, and don’t know the spell?"

Padma stopped her progress to the table, struck again by the memory of the sickly light. She thought she might have seen it before during a duelling demonstration between a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff who were showing non-English spells to younger students. Padma had rounded the corner as the spell was cast. The Hufflepuff, a cousin to Panjit Pradesh who had outstayed his welcome in an Indian school of magic and had transferred only that year, had generated it. He was bad news and had been sent to America before the end of the year for assaulting the younger female students.

She sat heavily, spilling the books once again. She may not know the spell, but she now had an inkling where to look. If it had been Pradesh that cast the spell she would make him pay when she found him.

It took two more hours, but at last, after going through the records for spells from India, Iran, and Iraq, she found the counter to the _Sab Bhulo_ curse cast by that sneaking prat, Pradesh. It was a nasty curse that not only affected higher brain functions such as memory and motor skills, but also shut down the parasympathetic nervous system, causing systemic failure in less than a day. She had a few more hours to administer the counter curse before she lost Lucius. The prospect of not being around his sardonic and self-deprecatory wit and his angelic features caused her heart to break. She did not have time to examine the feeling, but it felt strangely close to love, for better and for worse.

She breathlessly thanked the young Turk and rushed to hospital.

&*&*&

Dibby watched as the wizard was brought before the Council, bound, bloody, and quite arrogant still. The hall was silent as house elves from all over Delos and several other islands watched his progress. The dark-haired wizard was brought to a halt before Elf Mother and pushed to his knees. The ancient elf spoke using a translation spell, her tone solemn, “Human, you have been brought before the Council because of crimes against one of our own, a misguided elf to be sure, but loyal to his master. What say you to these charges?"

The human spat, his brutish face twisted with hate. He ignored the Elf Mother and struggled to stand. Two sturdy guards bound the human more tightly using spells and touches of their fingers. Dibby itched to flick his own spells at the human, but was constrained by his own sturdy guard who watched his every move. Elf Mother continued as if the man had answered. "You English-trained wizards have little respect for our kind. If you will not speak to the highest of our kind, then that will be your sentence."

Elf Mother flicked her fingers and a loud clap of thunder shook the temple. The bad human opened his mouth and a loud wail issued, and then was cut off. The human tried to speak, but the only sounds that issued were snuffling grunts and loud wails. Elf Mother turned her gaze to the elven guards. "Release him to the human authorities."

Dibby watched as the squeaking, gibbering human was led out, and then it was his turn to be addressed. Elf Mother sighed. "It pains me, young one, to have to sentence you. You were faithful to your master when none other were. You kept his place in his house, even as he spent time in prison, and you stayed with him when he had few friends. Your interference, however, cannot go unpunished. You have brought a new soul into an already volatile situation. That was wrong. Your sentence will be severance from your Master. You and your progeny now serve the female you so wronged. Go to her."

Dibby sobbed into his hands as he thought on Mistress Doctor's location and Apparated away. He had failed his Master even worse than the traitorous Dobby had. He was disgraced.

&*&*&

Lucius woke to pain and was blinded by the probing light of a Healer's wand. He shoved against the bed clothes that bound him in one position. "Where is Mona... Dr. Patil?"

Narcissa answered him from beside the bed, her voice cool and cultured. "I sent your little paramour home. She should be in London right now. I told her you no longer needed her services or those of the Muggle you had living with you."

"Cissy," Lucius growled, the sound weak to his ears, "What happened?"

Narcissa dabbed at her dry eye with a Bruges lace handkerchief. She had just the right air of mocking sadness. Lucius had seen it many times before, and despised her for the paucity of true emotion. He wanted Mona Lisa and he would have her. Narcissa rose, and it was then that Lucius noticed her burgeoning waistline. He stared wordlessly at her belly, thick with child as she said, "I would like to come home, Darling, and take care of you. As you can see, I was so wrong to ask for a divorce."

She took his hand and placed it on her belly. Lucius groaned, unable to think beyond the black spots that were dancing before his eyes. It was the first time he had ever felt like fainting in his life.

Narcissa smiled as she plumped his pillows and began chatting airily, as if nothing had occurred between them.

Lucius cursed, realising just how fucked he was.


	15. If Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder, Why Don't You Leave?

Padma watched her family from what seemed like a great distance. It was the normal Sunday afternoon dinner in mid-November, this time held at her flat in London, with all the incumbent irritation and dread. She wondered how such a little time between the events of her holiday and the current moment could change her perspective so much.

Tomas and Seamus had come home with her from Athens after the former Mrs. Malfoy had made her stunning appearance, belly big with child and glowingly beautiful. Padma had not waited for Lucius to awaken from the curse. What was the point? He had a child on the way and his fling with Padma was obviously at an end. Padma had spent the rest of her holiday in tearful solitude, alternately clinging to whatever gay male body presented himself to her, or pushing the same gay male away. She was more of a wreck than when she had discovered Justin and Parvati's perfidy. It didn't help that Seamus and Tomas were practically living together, with Seamus spending the bulk of his free time with Tomas, shagging rather loudly and lustily. Finnigan was a dear, but their obvious love for each other didn't seem quite fair, not when Padma no longer had that.

A month ago, Seamus had informed her that Panjit Pradesh had been arrested for the attack on Lucius after he showed up with a note pinned to his chest, written in an arcane elvish dialect, at the Athens Auror's office. It had taken two days and three experts in language to decipher the missive. He was currently residing in the high security wing of St. Mungo's, unable to speak or communicate in any way, the act causing him to break out in suppurating blisters, as if he had been burned. He was also plagued with intermittent severe bruising about his head in the shape of a flat iron. The Healers at the hospital could find no counter curse and suspected strong Elemental magics were used to effect the curse. Padma just hoped it lasted a long time. Tomas' attacker had been caught by none other than Millicent Bulstrode after he had tried to break into Tomas' office, and had been handed over to the Muggle authorities after meeting with one Seamus Finnigan. There seemed to be a connection between Pradesh and the Muggle thug, but as yet, there was no proof.

Dibby, who had unaccountably attached himself to Padma's household in Athens, was currently beating himself senseless for scorching the rice for Sunday dinner. Padma did not know what to do about him. She had contacted Lucius through Ian, but had yet to hear from him about his wayward elf.

The acquisition of an elf served only to irritate _Maa_ , who complained that Padma had even less reason now to marry.

If she only knew.

Now she sat in her parlour, watching Parvati and Justin go on about how wonderful it was to be a married, and a parent, and a responsible citizen, and all Padma wanted to do was puke, a thing she had done quite frequently for about a month.

Padma had supposed, when she returned from Athens, that the water she consumed or the food she ate had somehow not agreed with her. A few weeks later, after no abatement of the symptoms, she had administered both diagnostic spells and Muggle tests to finally ascertain what was wrong with her.

Sodding Lucius Malfoy was as potent as an elephant in must, and Padma was going to have his by-blow in seven months, give or take. She was a disgrace to her family and would soon reap the rewards of that state, probably today if she could work up enough nerve to tell them.

Tomas plopped gracelessly next to Padma on the couch, his arm snaking around her shoulders as he watched her mother extol the virtues of Parvati's married state. _Bapa_ remained silent, reading the Potions text Padma had purchased for him in Greece.

"You have got to do something about that elf. He's sobbing into a tea towel about how he ruined dinner," Tomas said. He watched Parvati jiggle her winsomely vomiting infant in her lap while _Maa_ cooed. He rolled his eyes. "When are you going to tell them?"

"Soon enough." Padma's queasy stomach plummeted with the thought. _Bapa's_ eyes never left his book, but Padma suspected he heard more than he let on.

Seamus returned from the kitchen, samosas in both hands and handed one to Tomas. "These things're great. Can you have your elf cook them again sometime, love?"

The smell of spices and potatoes on his breath turned her stomach as Finnigan spoke. She swallowed convulsively before answering wanly, "He's not my elf."

Tomas smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead while he simultaneously shot Seamus an irritated look. "Of course not, dear. He's Lucius Malfoy's."

The comment brought the conversation between Parvati and _Maa_ to a screeching halt and Padma flushed. The heat of the room became too much for her and she rose, running to the bathroom to empty her stomach of the little she had been able to eat at dinner.

&*&*&

Lucius currently hid in the west wing of the villa in Tuscany trying to keep from strangling his former wife for the second time in less than a year. He spent his hours occupied with his letters of penance, wishing most sincerely that he had not discovered his alcoholism in the face of his current blonde-haired problem. The same one who was wreaking havoc in the rest of the villa, in a rage about something he didn't stir himself to know. A drink would steady his nerves and make him not care as much as he did when he thought of Mona Lisa.

Draco was back in England with his gravid wife and had not contacted Lucius since he had owled a cowboy hat, ostrich skin boots and a letter from Severus. Lucius ran his hand over the letter, as yet unopened. It lay atop another letter he refused to read from Mrs. Ginevra Potter, 12 Grimmauld Place, London. Lucius cursed softly and covered the letters with his parchment, turning his attention once more to his ex-wife's reappearance.

When she had announced her pregnancy in such a dramatic fashion, he had been overwhelmed with the prospect of being a father again. Joy mixed with dread, and he had accepted that once again, he was saddled with the responsibility of Narcissa Black. He had not offered marriage, even with her earlier broad hints and her more recent tantrums. Bella may have inherited the Black madness, but the dark haired sister had nothing on Narcissa when it came to temper. Lucius had suffered several rather expensive assaults on his wardrobe and heirloom furnishings thus far.

Those actions were no surprise. During the course of their marriage, Lucius had been pummelled, slapped, had dodged heavy objects (most of the time) and on one notable occasion, been knifed. He had endured no end of hexes, curses, and poisons. It was the way of all Malfoys to experience such marital discontent, and Lucius accepted the state of his marriage as he had accepted the Dark Mark. It was expected. When Draco had come, he had hoped to find himself an ally in his son, but instead found that Narcissa spoilt the boy and played on his sympathies. Lucius did what he could, but Draco had been his mother's son from the moment he was laid in her arms. Lucius had always looked in from the outside on that relationship.

Certainly not all of Narcissa's anger had been unjustified. He had endangered their son. He had chosen to follow his father's demands and take the damned Mark, and he had been his own inimical, sarcastic, and supercilious self on more than one occasion. Most of the incidents between them had been precipitated by Lucius in some manner, if he were honest. Lucius was still himself when they married. He supposed, as with all the females of his acquaintance, she had hopes of changing him, softening him to her will.

All but one female... Lucius turned from the thought, a painful constriction beginning in his throat and radiating down to his chest. Narcissa, he must think of Narcissa...

Even as he knew he had disappointed Narcissa in their thirty-four years of marriage, he had loved her. She had been his first in many ways. He had fallen in love with her during their childhood, when he had sneaked into the hall from his nursery and had seen her glowing beauty in a party frock and nappies. His feelings had never wavered. He wondered why now when he saw Narcissa's patrician, icy beauty, that he longed for his cinnamon-skinned, exotic Mona Lisa. His feelings could not be that inconstant, even if Narcissa's had proven to be.

A resounding crash sounded down the hall, and then Narcissa's voice, magically amplified, reached his ears. He hastily grabbed a book, making sure that it was turned the right way. That had been his mistake when he had been stabbed-- pretending to be engrossed in a novel, a Muggle one left over, no doubt, from one of Severus' visits, only to discover that he had it turned upside down. Narcissa's ire had been expressed rather sharply. He still bore the scar, as he could not allow word to be spread about his inability to control his wife with the Dark Lord sleeping just down the hall.

The doors to his study flung open and Narcissa entered. Her voice whipped across the space between them. "I have been calling you, Lucius."

"Yes, darling?" He answered blandly. "How can I help you?"

Her eyes narrowed as she looked to the spine of the book he clasped before speaking, "I need to return to New York tomorrow."

Lucius made a show of marking his place with an antique, ivory bookmark, and closing the book fastidiously. He rose and greeted Narcissa with a kiss that did not quite meet her cheek. She had already applied her war paint that morning and he knew better than to disturb her efforts. "I see."

"Do you want to go?" Her bland expression covered an indefinable wrongness. Her body language was tense, as if she were waiting for him to find out something about her. He had seen the same pose a thousand times over the years. Mostly when she had purchased something he considered excessive, such as livery for the house elves. How in Merlin's name were they supposed to make them wear the Italian silk garments without freeing them? He supposed the bits of finery had been carted away by the Ministry, if they weren't still mouldering in some forgotten corner of the dungeon.

She continued rather too quickly, "Not that I think you'll have a good time. Really, you should just stay here and do as that dreary Muggle said, and write your boring letters."

Lucius inclined his head, betraying nothing of his sudden suspicion. "No, Cissy, I should feel horrible if you had any complications that might keep you overnight. The letters will wait, darling."

 

Anyone that did not know Narcissa as intimately as Lucius would have missed the slight drawing down of her pale brows, Narcissa's version of a scowl. "Lucius, I shall return to your side by tomorrow evening. The blood-priest's odd assignment is much more important, since it keeps you from consuming liquor."

"Very well, dear." Lucius sketched another kiss over his ex-wife's cheek and she left the room.

It seemed that Lucius had another project to occupy himself with tomorrow. Narcissa was hiding something, and he thought the answer just might lie in New York.

He returned to his desk and opened the letter from Mrs. Weasley.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_Apology accepted._

_Ginevra Potter_

_P.S. Why did you write to me anyway?_

&*&*&

 

Tomas was there when Padma's world fell apart for the third time. It had started with his thoughtless comment about Dibby, and escalated to a screaming match between Padma and Parvati, complete with hair pulling and a ripped frock, Padma's of course. When Mr. Patil had pulled the two apart, his wife rounded on him and the shouting began in various dialects of India. Seamus tried to play the hero as he pulled his wand, snatched the baby up from the floor, and cast a Sonorous charm to say, "Leave off, or I'll be forced to take you all in."

That had gone over well.

Tomas had barely pulled Seamus out of the way of a flying hex from none other than Mrs. Patil when Dibby rushed in and pulled Padma away from her sister, who had her in a rather competent headlock. The family fell silent just as the elf said mournfully, "Mistress Doctor must take care. The baby of my former Master will get hurt."

As his American classmates used to say, that is when the shit hit the fan.

That is how Tomas ended up with the rest of the mad lot of Hindus, and one raging Irishman, in the Auror's holding cells, awaiting a hearing on their disturbance of the peace and use of proscribed curses. Tomas couldn't help himself. When the Parvati bint had called Padma a whore, it was just too much. He let loose a Slapping Hex, that was only slightly less painful than the Cruciatus Curse. He had learnt it in America, where it was not strictly illegal. Apparently Tomas needed to read up on the laws of his homeland. He smirked at the corner in which Parvati sat, noting her still reddened cheeks. It served her right.

The only persons in the flat not taken into custody were the baby and the elf. Shit Creek and Paddles abounded.

Seamus stood, leaning over Tomas with a sigh, and brushed back Padma's disheveled hair. She had a shiner that was swelling. Tomorrow it would be black and ugly. Tomas itched to heal it so she would not have to bear the shame of her fight with her family, but since their wands had been confiscated, he could only commiserate with her pain.

Padma whispered, "I'm sorry if I got you in trouble."

"Don't worry about it lass," Seamus answered mildly. "We've all got families and know what they can be like."

Seamus' troubled expression was not reassuring to Tomas as he sat again on the hard wooden bench. Tomas took his hand and brushed his lips against his lover's cheek.

"Bloody shirt lifters and Death Eater whores." Finch-Fletchley hissed but after a poke in the ribs from his wife, he desisted, choosing to shoot dark looks instead.

Padma's father moved to the door, the area of the room closest to the realm of the poofs and pregnant tarts. He looked as if he were going to say something when the loud clang of a door from the end of the hall sounded, followed shortly by the figure of Harry Potter.

His expression was bemused as his eyes swept the group. He said, "You've been bailed out of here."

Mrs. Patil asked, "Who got us out so we can thank them?"

"Malfoy," Harry answered. Then over the hissed intakes of breath from both Mrs. Patil and Parvati, he added, "Draco Malfoy. His wife is in labour and having complications. You'll need to go directly to St. Mungo's, Padma. Liz is in obstetrics and she's asking for you."

&*&*&

Lucius stared at the letter from Severus, once again wishing for a sip of alcohol. He went as far as to open the seal and then stopped. He would have to face the recriminations of his one-time friend, but with his life in such turmoil, he just could not read the letter. It was too much for him.

He returned his attention to Mrs. Potter's letter.

_Why did you write to me anyway?_

He had thought his letter was self-explanatory, but one could never tell with a Weasley whether they had the ability to comprehend or not. Lucius picked up his quill.

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_I apologised because I needed to, I wrote because it was expedient. Would you rather have met me face to face? I think not. Our few meetings in the past were not pleasant for you._

_Yours,_

_LAM_

He folded the parchment and cursed as the Floo flared, shooting soot onto the floor. He had lost Dibby somehow, and was loathe to break in another elf, though he supposed he would have to since Narcissa was in residence.

"Father?" Draco's voice boomed from the Floo. "Father, it's Liz. She's having the baby ad she's asked you to come."

 

Lucius smiled and turned to his son's green visage. The boy looked scared, and for good reason. His first paramour had died after giving birth to his son. Elspeth, though still a Muggle, seemed much less inclined to succumb to something as common as child birth. No, she would probably live to be two hundred, if the rumours about what had happened at the Yule ball last year were true.

Lucius faced his son, placing his head in the flames without crouching. "I shall be there as soon as I can arrange a Portkey. Give her my best wishes."

 

As his son cut the connection, Narcissa entered, a look of distaste marring her face. "I suppose I should go."

 

"Why, darling, when you could not be bothered to go to the wedding?" Lucius used his most cutting tone. Narcissa had hurt Draco when she chose not to attend his nuptials. She had made it quite clear that she did not accept the choices their son had made. Draco would not be pleased if Narcissa showed up, especially in her condition. He knew at least that much about his son. "No, dear, you must rest for our trip tomorrow, and Elspeth doesn't need the added tension."

"Oh, Luc, at least let's make love before you leave," Narcissa said, her petulant whine grating on Lucius' nerves. "I do so miss what we had, dearest, and it has been months since we shared... it."

 

Narcissa sat in his lap, giving her best temptress pout. It would have worked a few months ago, had she given it then. Lucius had always found his ex-wife to be quite alluring when she tried to be. Now, however, he felt nothing. There was no flicker of desire as she squirmed against him. He felt nothing as she reached to untie his hair, scraping fingernails along his neck in the manner he liked. He did not rise to the occasion as she bared her meagrely endowed white breasts to his view.

He placed her firmly off his lap. "Not today, Cissy. I have a headache."

He left the room hastily and shut the door with a quick flick of his wrist as the first of many ceramics, some priceless no doubt, were shattered against the other side. Narcissa's screams of outrage echoed in the hallway.


	16. Daughters

Lucius arrived at St. Mungo’s two hours after the firecall from Draco. He was considerably lighter in pocket after bribing the various officials of both Italy and the U.K. for the privilege of being present at the birth of his half-blood grandchild. It had taken a bribe to get the local portkey agent’s office open in Italy, another to grease the wheels to expedite the portkey, and yet another to bypass the entire customs machinery at the Ministry of Magic, the only authorised portkey entry in England since the Dear Old Dark Lord had bollixed things up so many years before.

Ian awaited him in the lobby after Lucius firecalled ahead from the Ministry about his imminent arrival. The priest was looking about the crowded corridor uncomfortably. Ian winced as a victim of a bad potion walked by him. The woman’s hair was a mass of snakes and her face was alternating between a putrid aubergine and radiant Chudley Cannons orange. Lucius smirked as Ian backed away from her and stood next to a truly contagious individual, if Lucius could tell by the blooming pustules on the boy’s face. Lucius approached Ian out a sense of civic duty. He could not let the priest catch the raging case of Dragon Pox the boy had, if Muggles were susceptible to it.

“Ian.” Lucius said as he surreptitiously cast a cleansing spell and diagnostic on the priest to ascertain if he had indeed contracted the disease. Lucius watched the light play over Ian. It remained blue. Severus had taught him the spell when Draco was young and prone to such childhood diseases. He missed his old friend.

Lucius asked, “I presume that all is well with Elspeth since you are here to greet me?”

Ian smiled ruefully as they made their way to the lifts, “I suppose you could say that. She began hard labour an hour ago. I chose to fetch you so I wouldn’t have to assign her penance for her foul language. Your daughter-in-law can be incredibly... colourful.”

“Draco intimated there was a problem with the birth,” Lucius said as the doors to the lift opened and several people exited. Lucius held the door for the priest as they stepped through. A matronly woman sniffed and scooted to the side, glaring between Lucius and Ian, as if unsure which person to disdain more, the Muggle or the Death Eater “I hope that has been resolved.”

“I don’t know.” Ian answered as he pushed the button for MICU. “She has had some bleeding, but according to her mother, it was stopped by Dr. Patil. She’s been moved to MICU because of her non-magical status.”

“I see.” Lucius felt the familiar pain about his heart at the mention of hi Mona Lisa... no, Dr. Patil. He turned to the doors as they opened, waiting for the matron to exit before stepping off himself. The woman sailed past him, a shocked expression on her face as Lucius intoned, "Have a good day, Madam."

Ian stopped Lucius with a hand to his arm. Malfoy turned to the priest, his back to the MICU doors. "Lucius, I don't know how to say this, but... you seemed to have deeper feeling for the doctor. I was hoping..."

"Ian," Lucius began with a warning tone. "The doctor and I had a lovely interlude. It ended, perhaps inauspiciously, but it is over. Narcissa is my first concern..."

Lucius felt the blood drain from his face as Ian clapped his hands together and addressed a person behind Lucius. "Dr. Patil, are you taking a break?"

&*&*&

Tomas bristled as the white-faced git greeted Padma stiffly. "Doctor Patil, I hope things are well with you."

Malfoy sketched a bow and swallowed convulsively, causing his shirtfront to bob up and down with his laryngeal prominence as he did. Padma gave a strained smile and motioned Tomas forward. "I don't think you've met my..."

"How is my daughter-in-law?" Lucius barked, looking past Tomas as if he did not exist. Tomas clenched his wand tighter, aching to blast the git with that slapping curse. He could just imagine the former Death Eater's cheeks a rosy red, and of course he did not mean to aim for the ones on his face.

Padma stepped away, dropping her gaze to the floor, but not before Tomas saw the tears on her black lashes. "Mrs. Malfoy is doing well, but I will be on call until she gives birth."

Lucius glowered at Tomas before saying, "I see you've recovered from your holiday. Good day, Doctor. I must attend my family."

As the two men walked away, Padma whispered, "I need to get out of here."

She took his hand and Tomas leaned over, putting his arm around her shoulder. "It will be okay, Love. I promise."

As they entered the lift, Tomas turned to face the door. He saw Lucius bloody Malfoy staring after them, his expression pained. Padma laid her head on Tomas' shoulder, and Malfoy disappeared into the MICU corridor with his poncy cane and his effete nose in the air.

&*&*&

Draco greeted Lucius from his position behind his panting, red-faced wife. "Father, I'm so glad you could make it. I suppose mother was detained. It's just as well."

Draco's comment brought a sharp look from Lucius. He knew his son too well not to know that Narcissa's absence hurt him. Lucius felt the need to ease his son's hurt. "She's been unwell since returning from New York."

"I hadn't heard." Draco began kneading his wife's lower back. "Do you know where she's staying so that I may contact her when the baby arrives?"

Lucius attempted not to let his puzzlement show. "She didn't tell you? She returned to Tuscany with me after..."

"Fucking hell, this hurts!" Elspeth groaned as another spasm rippled under her cotton covered belly. She rode out the contraction and then snapped at Lucius, "Don't just stand there like a fucking idiot. Go get the doctor. I want this thing out of me!"

There were reasons that the Muggle practice of allowing familial admittance to the birth room had not been accepted by the wizarding world. Lucius retreated after flexing his fingers so as not to curse his son's lovely wife, arriving at the nurse's station as Elspeth gave a air-rending screech followed quite coherently by several curse words that made him blush. The chit sounded like one of the former dockworkers, now on the dole, of which Father Cavanaugh was so fond of ministering. Lucius cleared his throat, attempting to cover the flushing of his skin by waving a hand before his face as if he were overheated. "If I might importune you for one, it seems my daughter-in-law is in need of a Calming Draught."

Lucius scowled as the two midwitches behind the counter rolled their eyes expressively. The tawny-haired one with an incipient mustache and a rather large bottom, finally answered,”She's already been given one, Sir, as well as a host of Muggle drugs, and I'd say she's rather calm for what she's going through."

Elspeth continued screaming filth and obscenities, and began vowing the destruction of all Malfoy assets, as it were. Wishing he could pry his son away from the harpy as he did, Lucius decided to beat a hasty retreat. Surely, someone in the room needed tea.

Once in the small cafeteria, he made his way through the maze of lines, looking at the odd varieties of foods, all under stasis charms and then wrapped in that clear Muggle film. He picked a small china cup and proceeded to fill it from a carafe of coffee, another Muggle device. He then made his way to a small table behind a silk plant that he supposed was there for decoration, but only served to annoy him. It was when he took his first sip of tepid, weak coffee that he heard Mona Lisa.

"I can't tell him, Tomas. No," she was saying over her paramour's objections.

The man was a bit effete for her, if Lucius was any judge of character, but perhaps her parents had intervened in her life as she had said she feared. He wished her well over the strange tightening in his throat.

The man said, "He'll know soon enough. You should tell him. Today, while he's here and away from that bitch of an ex of his."

"Don't say that. We don't even know her." Padma's voice was strangely soft and tearful. Lucius peered through the dusty fronds of the silk plant, surprised to see tears glistening on her cinnamon cheeks. They left dark trails on her skin. "Besides, she's pregnant, and he obviously did it, so she has prior claim to him and his..."

The words became garbled as his Mona Lisa spoke into her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"Bollocks," the feminine man said, his eyes flashing. "Seamus and I can only do so much. Your child deserves to know who its father is, even if he is a rat bastard."

It was then that Lucius dropped his cup and spoon, drawing the attention of all assembled to his hideaway. He stood, looming over the false plant and the even falser Mona Lisa. The only words that came to mind were the bald truth, "You're pregnant?"

Mona Lisa stood and fled, leaving her paramour, or whatever he was to her, behind to face the wrath of a thoroughly enraged Malfoy.

&*&*&

Padma fled back to her offices near MICU, wanting to put this day behind her forever. This was worse than facing the younger LeStrange man in battle, worse than having the Carrow monster grope her as he 'trained' her in the Dark Arts. It was worse than having to face _Bapa_ as she confirmed her pregnancy to him after they were released from the holding cells. Lucius's face had been terrible to behold as he asked those two words. He hadn't wanted an entanglement, that much was obvious. She considered going to India to have the child, living there and working in an orphanage. Or perhaps she could get a job at a hospital in America. Running away had always been her _modus operandi_ , why should she change now that she knew Lucius' true feelings on his bastard child?

She unwarded the door to her office and curled into her chair, looking outside on the bleak, November street. London hadn't felt like home since Greece. She ran her hand over the small not-lump in her belly, more imaginary than real for the time being at least.

There was still time to get rid of it.

The thought made her ill, and she pushed it to the back of her mind, along with the look of fury on Lucius' face as he found out about Lumpkin.

She tried to dredge up hate or some other equally destructive emotion for him, but couldn't. She loved him and couldn't deny it any longer. Whatever his feelings on the child she carried, she would keep it because it was a little part of him. She dashed away the tears that threatened to fall and addressed her belly, "Well, my little Lumpkin, it seems it's going to be just you, me, Auntie Tomas and Uncle Seamus. I'm sorry you've got such a fucked up family."

She watched out the window as the drizzle that had begun to fall turned to fat snowflakes, coating the grime of the street below in pale snow. Diwali had ended and Padma's devotions had gone unanswered. It served her right. Why should she and Lumpkin prosper at the expense of another woman's child?

Her thoughts turned to Mrs. Malfoy, with her English rose complexion and cool composure. Padma, with her work hardened hands and sharp temper, could never compete with that ice queen. Lucius had loved her first, and apparently thoroughly. Padma had been just a passing fancy, a way to fill the hours until Lucius could assume his role of patron of the wizarding world again. Honestly, Padma could not see herself in Malfoy Manor, or anywhere that Lucius, with all his galleons, breeding, and pureblood, patrician snobbery would haunt. The only place that they had worked was in that fusty little villa in Greece. It was just as well that he had impregnated his ex-wife. Perhaps he would leave Padma and her child in peace. She could raise Lumpkin without all that pureblood, Death Eater baggage.

She almost had herself convinced when she heard a summons over the hospital wireless. Padma straightened her hair and cast a cooling charm over her face. The newest Mrs. Malfoy needed her services, Lumpkin and the future would have to wait.

&*&*&

Tomas almost felt sorry for the git as he watched Padma exit the cafeteria. His expression was bleak and grey as he fumbled to seat himself, almost as if he had been stricken blind. He watched as Malfoy's jaw worked, the muscles bunching and relaxing until he said, "Is it yours?"

"Mine?" Tomas almost laughed until he observed the way Malfoy carefully folded a handkerchief to begin cleaning the tea from his cloak. "She didn't tell you about me?"

Malfoy stopped the scrubbing motion for a moment, looking stupidly at the cloth before he put it aside and Evanescoed the rest of the liquid from his clothing. "Obviously not. How long have you two been lovers?"

At that, Tomas did laugh, the noise startling the pureblood git, who sat scowling at him, looking like an angry, wet bird. "Since never. I'm her flatmate. The gay one... who shags men. I couldn't... Ew..."

Tomas gave an unaffected shudder as Lucius covered his face with his hand. Alarm shot through the smaller man as Malfoy's shoulders began to shake. "Mr. Malfoy, are you..."

"I am a fool." The blond man said as he raised his face to Tomas, his eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "I love her, you know. I admitted it the night I was attacked by that Prudish fellow. Not to her of course, but to myself. I was going to ask her to formalise our alliance that evening."

"Oh."

"Just so." Lucius gave a short bark of laughter in response to the smaller man's interruption. Malfoy began toying with his broken cup, dropping the pieces into the saucer, each clink louder than the last. "Could you please tell her..."

Malfoy's face rippled with unspoken emotion, then smoothed, "Please let her know that if she needs anything, it is hers. I won't have it said that I didn't provide the proper care for my child. Not again."

The man stood and strode from the room, his cane clacking heavily against the tiled floor.

"Damn," Tomas said to no one. "I wanted to hate him."

&*&*&

Dibby knew he was going against the Elf Mother's express orders but thought the situation called for it, even if he would have to punish himself with many ear ironings and bashes to his head. He narrowed his eyes as he followed the old Mistress through the villa. She was shedding clothes and laughing as a young man followed her. She was big with child, but smaller than she should be for the mating she had with Master Lucius only eight months before.

Dibby vanished himself and followed the young American man to the bed room, now not off limits to him, since he no longer belonged to the family. He listened as the two plotted and planned to part Master Lucius from his money and leave him with the young man's child while Mistress Narcissa stayed in that country that encouraged free elves and bad behaviour. When he heard enough, he removed himself with a soft pop of Apparation.

He had to think about what to do to save his old Master and reunite him with his new Mistress. Dibby would have to interfere just once more. He hoped Elf Mother would understand.

&*&*&

Lucius came to the door just as Mona Lisa delivered his granddaughter, her deft hands separating the child from the mother's body, and easing the purplish mass of caul off the child's head. He felt tears in his eyes as he watched the people whom he loved most in the world rejoice over the successful birth of the latest Malfoy. Halfblood or not, she was a special child with her shock of blond hair still dark from the blood and amniotic fluids of her recent travels.

Mona LIsa placed the child on Elspeth's belly and clamped the cord before cutting it. Once done, she placed the child on the floor of the room, as was Pureblood custom from the time of the Caesars, awaiting Draco's approval. Lucius' son scooped the little girl up in his arms and said her name for the first time. "We will call her Iris Lucia Malfoy... uh Cowell-Malfoy."

He raised his daughter up to the heavens as he pronounced her name and then handed her to the midwitch who waited to clean her. Elspeth was strangely silent during the naming. Lucius thought that perhaps Muggles could learn to live within the rarefied air of the wizarding world. He caught his daughter-in-law's eye and bowed before entering the room. He bent to kiss her sweat-soaked brow and she smiled sloppily at him, closing her eyes at the effort it took to speak.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Malfoy. It really means a lot to both of us."

Lucius smiled, a true one, rarely bestowed, and never on Muggles. "Thank you for everything, Madam. My grand-daughter is lovely."

He turned away from the exhausted woman only to be met by Mona Lisa's eyes, which were dark with reproach and pain. She rushed from the room after ensuring the baby's health, he gait oddly stiff. Lucius watched her go, unable to assure her that things would be well between them. Unable to acknowledge the child he had put in her body. Tomorrow he would find out what Narcissa hid, but today both he and Mona Lisa would have to live with the pain of uncertainty.

Draco approached him as Lucius made to leave. "You love her, don't you? Padma, I mean."

Lucius pulled on his gloves, ignoring his son's query. Draco said, "It’s odd, the timing of Mother's return, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't know, Son." Lucius answered feeling the crinkle of the unopened letter from Severus that he had thrust in his pocket before he left the villa. He fingered the stiff parchment through his cloak. Perhaps he would read it while he waited for his Portkey to activate. "I must be going."

&*&*&

_Lucius,_

_It has been a long time, Old Friend. I hope I can still be counted among your friends, given the revelations your son gave to me just this evening. I am sorry that Albus did not follow through on his promises. He seemed to fail both of us almost as much as the Dark Lord did._

_Things are going well here. I have married and have several children. My oldest, whom I adopted a few years ago, is a young man who will begin teaching at Hogwarts next autumn. He obtained his mastery from me and has been working on some research at our facility. My second child, my son's cousin, is studying veterinary medicine at a Muggle University and has also obtained her mastery, in Magical Creatures. I have two young children with my wife, and we are expecting a third soon._

_I find this letter exceedingly difficult to write. There is at once so much and so little to say. We lived through a lifetime of war, deceit and injustice. We both suffered for the causes that enveloped us, and yet, somehow, we survived. For that I thank providence. I pray that this letter finds you in good health, and with all your teeth. You always were vain about your looks. It should hearten you to know that I still have all my hair. I do remember your dire predictions all those years ago about the state of my thinning locks._

_I will be in England at the beginning of next year to settle my son and his wife into his new position, and to assume control of a small Potions company which my wife and I acquired recently. She has accepted the post of Director of Research at St. Mungo's Potions development laboratory while I toil away at our own business. I look forward to seeing you, if you are willing to see me. I do not know what my reception will be after all of our history._

_Yours,_

_S.S._

 

Lucius carefully folded the parchment and placed the page into the envelope. Tomorrow he had business in America. Perhaps he could pop by and see how his old friend was doing. It might be helpful to have Severus' perspective on Lucius' complex situation given that he had impregnated one of his former students and perhaps his ex wife within months of each other.


	17. Satellites, Insemination, and Severus Snape... Oh My!

If anyone involved in the saga that would become Lucius Malfoy's bloody Monday had predicted the start of that morning in New York, they would have never thought that it would begin with a massive interruption of all Muggle satellite communications. Even Sybil Trelawney's best prediction would not have had a small house elf on a mission mistakenly casting a powerful spell on a Muggle communications satellite that rebounded off all the others, creating a net of images that spread across the world. A certain blonde-haired, patrician, British woman was caught in _flagrante delicto_ with a rather lusty American man of Italian descent, with a strong Brooklyn accent. It would also not have been predicted that after copious amounts of colourful phrases that the woman uttered, telling the man what, where and how to place certain parts of his anatomy and with how much force, that said woman would stride from the bed, revealing her gloriously nude and heavily gravid frame. In passing, several ambassadors who were working at the UN at the time of the interruption did wish that their wives, and in one case, current mistress, had retained their beauty the same way that this glowing British rose had during her pregnancy.

The next turn that Monday morning took was that said woman, who was rapidly approaching middle age, attached herself like a limpet to the impossibly young Italian-American man as he strode about in equally naked glory, and then exposed to him that the children she carried, twins, were not his. That she had, in fact, utilised some sperm stored by her ex-husband during the first war (to this, most Muggles watching shrugged) in the event that he did not produce an heir before his death. The blonde woman had liberated said biological material from her Healer's storage by the nefarious use of a former servant (said as house elf, but again overlooked by the Muggles) and a very terrifying threat of punishment to the same creature. The unenviable state of two eggs being incubated within her frame resulted from injudicious use of fertility drugs prescribed by a (Muggle) physician with few scruples and a gambling problem. The young man whinged appropriately and said he would not raise some other man's bastard children, to which the blonde replied, that he would not have to once the child support issue was settled. She would simply find an appropriate orphanage in which to place the brats, and they could trot off to Rio as planned.

At that pronouncement, any support the aforementioned blonde might have garnered from the various rabid feminists and embittered current or ex-spouses of rich bastards with too much money and too little sense, was lost, and the very fickle public turned against her. Jerry Springer, the American tabloid host and freak show barker, could not have produced a better programme than the one in which Narcissa Black-Malfoy was now involved. Springer, incidentally, concurrent with the conversation, began phoning various talent agents, asking how he might be able to book said woman, her current infantile paramour, and the as yet unknown ex-husband.

More sex ensued between the woman and the infant, this time with body parts uncovered on the kitchen table, and a rather dubious reaction to the man's performance. The FCC chief was, at that juncture, pulling tufts of hair out of his head, screaming at various broadcasting companies about the nature of their programming, and fielding calls from furious government officials. At one point he was contacted by no less than seven outraged heads of rather conservative states, and at least fifteen religious leaders, including His Holiness, the Pope. By 8:30 in the morning, the poor chief had nearly overdosed on physician prescribed acid reducers and Tums.

At this same time in New York, it was six hours later in London, and one Draco Malfoy, who had stayed home from work to assist his wife with their latest bundle of joy, boredly flipped on their Muggle television set as his wife slept. He was wishing that a wizard had invented something like this nearly magical box for his world, when he caught sight of his mother, in circumstances that made him want to gouge his eyes out and then _Incendio_ the portion of his brain that retained the image. Once recovered, and remembering the odd statement his father had made about a business trip to the states the day following his daughter's birth, Draco made a frantic firecall to Severus Snape, begging him to find Lucius Malfoy in New York City before unforgivables were thrown or blood was spilt. He wanted his children to know at least one of their grandparents, preferably outside the walls of an American prison.

Lucius, at the beginning of this particularly ill-fated Monday, was waiting in a holding cell at the Port Authority, having to explain, yet again, that he had been cleared of all charges relating to his unfortunate association with a certain Dark Lord, and that the Dark Mark he bore meant little more than an embarrassing youthful blunder. The bored Port Authority worker, a squib who had the unenviable job of dealing with an increasingly irate Malfoy, took his statement, nodding periodically and making the appropriate noises, but seemed distracted by a little screen on a Muggle device he carried. Lucius, whose wand had been confiscated until he was allowed to exit the drab facility, itched to provide the squib with some incentive to get him out of the dingy white cell, even as he knew that incentive would also prove that Lucius' Dark Mark was more than a youthful indiscretion.

It was ten by the time that Lucius was able to convince the various authorities that he posed no threat to the safety of the American citizens or its government. He was given back his wand, and set free without even an apology for the inconvenience. _American savages_ , he thought viciously. If he had been a man who cursed, he might have let loose a string of expletives to rival his daughter-in-law's from the day before. He proceeded to the appointed Apparation node and left New Jersey's foetid air for the equally intoxicating ether of New York City.

He entered Times Square, discommoded by the stench of traffic and the crush of bodies both magical and Muggle. Lucius had never liked large gatherings of milling Muggle humanity unless he could curse his way through them. He did note that most of the mob's attention was focused on a rather large screen situated on the side of a building. Having rarely been exposed to that particular form of Muggle inanity, he did not pay attention to the images. That was until, after a brief glance up, he noted the similarity of one of the participants in the rather seedy drama unfolding on the screen that dominated the square, to his ex-wife. It was then that he felt the first throbbing of true, bone-deep, white-lipped rage. He had not felt such strength of emotion since his darling wife had engineered the divorce in such a spectacular manner in Azkaban... and now this...

_The bitch._

_The whore._

_The walking dead woman._

&*&*&

 

Dibby was dismayed by the reaction of the spell on the Mugglish technology. He had never dreamt that their magic was so fragile. He cast several spells to end the fiasco once he realised that his aims were not being met. His former Master would never see Old Mistress on Mugglevision. When the last spell leapt from his body, he then saw his error. The Mugglevision sky-lights were reflective, and each spell cast caused the reflection to increase. Dibby folded his ears down against his body as the first of the Apparations occurred around him in the field beside the stink-infested, American-Italian jet-animal stables.

"You are bid by the Council of American Brownies to answer for your attack," the tallest, furriest creature said.

Dibby feared American Brownies. They were house elves that had decided to stay after the thirteenth amendment mistakenly freed all slaves in the country, including those magically bound. Decent house elves, house elves with pure breeding and no native sprite or leprechaun blood, had returned to the Europe to serve true masters. A master would keep the house elf tendency to be bossy and interfering under control with the ironing of ears and enforced servitude. Brownies were bad, bad creatures that were lawless and demanded bribes from humans. They bought their own clothes and expected to be paid. What shameful elves they were.

Dibby stood straighter, his nose lifted as he had seen both Old Master and Old-old Master address other humans, and said in his best continental elvish, "Dibby is serving the House of Mistress Doctor Patil. If the Brownies want to speak to Dibby, they will have to do it through Dibby's Mistress."

The tallest, furriest Brownie clapped his hands together and several of the base creatures flanking Dibby, grappled him to the ground, smearing his face into the marshy, chemical smelling dirt. Dibby fought, but could not free himself. They had used native magic on him.

"Very well," the biggest elf said, “you will come with us, and wait in the dungeons of New York while we fetch your mistress."

A female, who was part goblin, if Dibby could tell by her ugliness, stepped forward and with a wave of her hand, dispelled Dibby's reflective magic. She turned to the big elf and said sourly through pointy teeth, "It is stopped, but the images will take some time to dispel. This is a strong little guy, even if he is a slave."

&*&*&

Padma tried to get through her day in her usually serene manner, but with the hormones running through her veins and the emotional turmoil of the previous day, she ended up snapping at the mediwitches assigned to her and fumbling through consults. It was well past lunch, she was still nauseous, and was becoming dizzy either from lack of sleep, or from the absence of food, possibly both.

Padma finally retreated to do her paperwork for the day when she made a young intern cry for eating in the ward. She had attempted to smooth feathers, but had given up as the girl, fresh out of medical school, wailed louder over her apologies.

She pulled out the drawer to her desk and searched for the crisps that she had stashed there Friday before she left for the day. They were vinegar and salt and seemed to be the only things she could keep down. She located the bag and opened it, pulling out a handful of the greasy crisps and cramming them into her mouth. They were stale, but edible.

She was busily munching away when the door swung open and a familiar black-haired head popped through. "Padma, darling, aren't you through with work yet? You need to conserve your strength for my adopted niece or nephew."

"Shut it, Tomas," Padma replied around a mouthful of crisps spewing crumbs as she spoke. She swallowed hastily and asked, "Why are you off work so early?"

"We're slow, and I have no paperwork to fill out." Tomas shrugged. "Seamus came by and invited us to eat at his Mum's tonight."

"No." Padma answered. "No. I will not be a buffer between you and his mother again. You remember the last dinner we had. No. I 'm not in any shape to do it, not now."

Tomas flopped into the chair across from her desk, crushing the papers on it as he did. "Please. I was there for you, and there was violence at your gathering."

"She tried to convert me, Tomas, and that was after she accused you of turning her son gay." Padma wiped her greasy fingers on her lab coat then turned her attention to the stack of transcription she needed to read through. "At least with my family you gave as good as you got. I had to just sit there and smile."

Tomas laughed just as the crying intern knocked and the pops of Apparation were heard just outside Padma's door. He stood, wand drawn, as Padma did the same. The door blasted open, and two strange, house elf-looking beings grabbed both Tomas and Padma. They waved their fingers and stunned both Healer and physician. Padma could hear the shriek of the crying intern just as the creature that held her Disapparated.

&*&*&

Lucius had just cast a Point Me spell, hoping that in the mass of humanity, that Narcissa's magical signature could be recognised. He waited as the spell's argent line exited his wand and began glowing in an easterly direction.

He began walking, knowing that the flat she occupied had to be closer than a mile for the spell to work. It was as he crossed the street that he became aware of the tingling feeling of a Point Me spell directed at him. He side-stepped a rather dazzling young woman in walking shoes and a Dolce suit and turned, his wand ready.

He paused, stunned at the sight of Severus Snape stumping toward him with a cane, his Muggle coat billowing behind him like the best of his old Death Eater robes. The man had a way with clothes, Lucius would give him that. A dark-skinned, Asiatic-looking young man with plaited hair followed behind him, black eyes darting around sharply at the scenery. If Lucius hadn't known Severus for so many years, he might have mistaken the younger man for a relative of his old friend. The two older men stared at each other for some moments, both reluctant to break the years of silence between them. A yellow taxi honked, causing Lucius to jerk forward slightly. He silenced the noise with a well-placed spell, and waited for Severus to approach.

Several more horns sounded, and the original irritant poked his head out of the side of the car. "Hey, buddy, get outta the way! We got places to go."

Snape drew abreast of Lucius and reached out with a shaking hand. "Lucius, old man."

Lucius took the offered hand and clasped it as if it were a lifeline holding him above water. He felt his eyes stinging and he nodded mutely. He could not fit words over the lump forming in his throat. Severus, whose eyes were also suspiciously damp, said, "We are obstructing traffic. Let's find a pub so we might talk."

Once across the street, Severus stopped. "I would like you to meet my son, Joseph Red Horse. We call him Joseph Pony to distinguish him from his father. Joseph Pony, this is Lucius Malfoy, an old associate of mine."

"Nice to meet you," the younger man said, with sharp nod. "Dad's told me a lot about you."

Lucius pulled a face, finally able to get past the warring dichotomy of his emotions, the roiling rage mixing with a sickening dismay at Severus' appearance and his true happiness at seeing his friend alive. Lucius finally choked out, "None of it good, I suppose."

Red Horse's teeth flashed white in his dark face. "Nah, just funny stories, you know."

"I surmise that my son contacted you, Severus." Lucius began looking about the street for a likely place to get rid of his old friend. It would not do for him to be involved in any way in Narcissa's murder.

Severus answered softly, "He did. He was concerned you might do something hasty given the nature of the television programming this morning."

"How did he know?" Lucius asked.

The young man answered, "Everyone does. Whatever spell was used broadcast the whole morning on Muggle television all over the world."

Lucius laughed, at first ruefully, but then with greater mirth. He suspected he knew who, or at least what creature, was responsible for the unmasking of his ex-wife. If he ever saw Dibby again, he would provide him with anything his heart desired and then hex him thoroughly.

As the three men began walking to a storefront that promised refreshments and food, Severus stumbled. The younger man slowed, a fleeting look of pain passing across his features. He steadied Severus by surreptitiously placing his hand at his elbow. "Dad, slow down, you know I don't walk as fast as you."

Red Horse's solicitude brought a scowl to Snape's face but no more. Lucius smirked. Had the younger man said the same thing when Lucius was better acquainted with his old friend, wands would have been drawn and hexes exchanged. Perhaps Severus had mellowed with age.

They entered the dim interior of a pub that seemed to be the twin of the Leaky Cauldron except for the Muggle television, which incidentally was no longer showing "The Narcissa Malfoy Show." Instead, a stern-faced news-presenter recapped the day's events. Lucius scowled as he saw a Muggle still-shot of Narcissa's face flash across the screen. Severus, leaning heavily on the cane, said in his driest tone, "I see that your lovely ex-wife is well, Lucius."

"Sod off," Lucius spat. He smelled the ambrosial fumes coming from the bar, even over the odour of stale beer and smoke, and wished he had not given up drink.

Severus merely chuckled as he found a booth in which to sit. Lucius and Red Horse followed him.

"So, Lucius, tell me what brought your life to this very odd turn of events." Severus' dry delivery belied his concern. "Joseph Pony, would you please fetch me a Coca Cola, and you, Lucius, your usual?"

"No," Lucius demurred. "I no longer indulge."

Severus' eyes glittered like two black diamonds but he said nothing. Lucius remembered several rather heated conversations during the last months of the war that Severus had mounted attempting to warn him of his addiction. "Please fetch Lucius a mineral water."

"Sure," the young man answered, as Severus slid paper currency across the table to his son. The young man flashed a bright smile at him. "How long you want me to take to get it?"

"Until you fetch it, Joseph Pony. Now off with you."

Lucius, hearing the note of humour in his old friend's voice, commented, "This country has changed you for the better, I see."

"I no longer have to deal with dunderheads and Dark Lords," Severus answered as he watched his son reach the bar. "We are not here to discuss my life, Lucius. Tell me how you and Narcissa came to this pass, and why it is being broadcast on Muggle television."

Lucius sagged, his fury finally fully abated. He stared ahead dumbly as Red Horse returned to the table bearing three drinks. The young man sat a clear beverage in front of Lucius then took his seat by Severus, lounging with his long legs sprawled before him. He knocked Lucius' booted foot with his and murmurred a terse-lipped apology, his expression assessing.

Lucius coloured. "You should probably know before I begin, that I have impregnated one of your former students. Accidentally."

Red Horse snorted but wisely refrained from comment. Severus' lips thinned so much they almost vanished. Lucius toyed with the glass in front of him. Severus had always been Lucius' conscience, even during the darkest, first days of servitude to the Dark Lord. He had always assumed, given his final assignment from Albus Dumbledore, that Severus was quite protective of all the students that had been under his auspices. He would mostly likely disapproved of Lucius' near paedophilia. Lucius was older than Mona Lisa's father, he had found out that much about her family. He wondered now, what he could have been thinking, even as he yearned for the woman in question.

Lucius glanced up to confirm the disaproval in his old friend's eyes. Severus inclined his head. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning, Lucius."

Severus folded his hands on top of the table. It was then that Lucius noticed how gnarled and twisted they were. No doubt his old friend's service to his two masters was responsible for the ravaged appearance of his body.

Lucius gathered his thoughts as he took a long sip of the water before him. Once done, he answered, "As you know, my family and I were incarcerated after the war…”


	18. All's Well That Ends Without Bloodshed

It was the second day in Padma’s life that she had spent in a holding cell awaiting justice. That the day was contiguous with the first such day that she had spent in the same occupation was of little consequence. She moved her shoulders uncomfortably against the granite wall, wishing that she had some background in law. She and Tomas had still not been given a reason for their abduction across the Atlantic by creatures she had learned were called Brownies. She looked to the other occupant of the cell, the pitifully sobbing, and rather rank-smelling Dibby. Somehow, she knew this revolved around him. It all had since Greece.

Padma moved again, this time jostling the very queasy Tomas who had been trying, between bouts of nausea, to tell her something about the former Mrs. Malfoy and a television appearance. Padma dismissed his prattle entirely. He had been such a mother hen since she announced her pregnancy.

She attempted to stand to ease the ache between her shoulders, and was immediately assailed by her inappropriately named morning sickness. She sat rather abruptly when the world began spinning. Apparently she was not over her transatlantic Apparation, a thing, incidentally, that she had thought impossible in one go until this afternoon.

Dibby began wailing in earnest as she placed her hand on her head in an attempt to still the motion of the world, “Dibby is sorry, Mistress. This is all Dibby’s fault. Dibby will iron his ears until they burn. He will bang his head until it explodes. He will wink out of existence...”

“Oh, leave off,” Padma said, a note of exhaustion creeping into her voice. She leaned her head against the stone wall and closed her eyes. “If you want to off yourself, don’t do it because of me. I’ve enough bad karma without your help.”

Dibby wailed and banged his head against the wall while rocking to and fro. That was the only movement in the cell until a Brownie appeared. Its head was covered in thick red hair with two pointed ears peeking from the mass. It looked around for a moment, its grey-green eyes assessing the situation before disappearing.

Padma had learned a brief history of the Brownies from their rather talkative transporter while they had awaited their cell. She thought the one that had just appeared must be at least part _kitsune_ , a Japanese fox spirit who was part trickster, part helpful sprite, and was to be appeased and respected at all costs.

The Brownie opened the door again, this time ushering in Narcissa Black, covered in a sheet. Along with her came and a beautiful specimen of youthful male with an olive complexion and the hazel eyes of a true Neapolitan. The boy was without a stitch of clothing. Upon seeing them, Tomas guffawed and then vomited. It was the third time he had retched since they had been snatched. It took all of Padma’s self-control not to join her friend’s ruminative ejections.

The former Mrs. Malfoy sidestepped the pool of offal and sat in a regal pose on the rough bench opposite Padma. The patrician blonde raised her nose in the air haughtily and did not deign to acknowledge the other occupants of the room.

An hour or so later, the same vulpine Brownie brought in a light repast of fruit, sandwiches and what Padma assumed was pumpkin juice. She gulped the beverage and almost spewed the contents. Instead of the mildly sweet, non-acidic beverage she expected, she had taken a mouthful of orange juice. Padma never drank orange juice. It always made her dyspeptic. Immediately, heartburn set in and she moaned as she put the juice down. As if on cue, a bottle of stomach curative appeared on the tray, the pink liquid glistening in the bottle as light from the opening door struck it . Padma drank it as she watched who entered next.

Lucius was the first one to stumble into the room, as if he had been shoved, his silver hair uncharacteristically mussed and his clothes dirt-stained as if he had been in a fight. A dangerous-looking Native American man and Headmaster Snape followed him.

It was then that things became much less boring.

&*&*&

Lucius found his hands on Narcissa’s shoulders, shaking her with a good deal of force, without knowing how he came to be in that position. It took the strength of the naked infant, the poof, and Red Horse to pull him off her. Severus remained aloof in his usual manner, his eyebrow quirked and a sardonic sneer on his face.

Once Lucius was separated form his ex-wife, Severus stepped forward, his gnarled hand outstretched in a gesture of mocking goodwill. “Narcissa, wonderful to see you again, and so much of you this time.”

He executed a perfect bow over her hand and kissed the air above it just before she snatched it back, her lips curled as if she smelled something rotten. “I should have known you wouldn’t stay dead, Severus. You never did know when to make your goodbyes.”

The poof, who was rubbing his shoulder as if in some pain, retreated to Padma’s side while Severus’ son paced as he glowered at the room’s occupants. Red Horse seemed to have perfected that particularly menacing look, Lucius could tell from the way the infant chose to hide behind Narcissa for the scant protection she offered. Lucius snorted derisively while smirking in the direction of the infant’s dangly bits as they made contact with the rough and very cold seat. The infant took Narcissa’s hand and looked hopefully toward the cell door.

Lucius’ pale gaze swept the room and rested on Mona Lisa. He was once again mesmerised by her glowing skin and dark beauty. She gave him a brief smile, her lips quirked as if pulled by strings, and then released back into the pensive frown that had settled on them the day before.

He turned away in despair. His life had turned to shit once Narcissa had re-entered it. Perhaps it had always been thus and he had failed to notice it before.

It was in that moment of melancholy that Lucius noticed Dibby pulling his ears in distress as he sat in the corner. The creature reached out to Lucius in a supplicating manner as he pulled back his booted foot to kick it. A single tear tracked down its cheek and Lucius lost his motivation to do it harm. The creature was only responsible for the Mona Lisa portion of the debacle that was his life. Narcissa and Lucius had laid the groundwork for the most recent years before.

Severus warned, “I would not complete that motion, Lucius. Brownies are very unlike house elves. They do not take kindly to abuse of even the least of them.”

The door to the cell swung open once more and a red-furred creature with pointed ears and a face like a corgi entered. Its nose twitched disagreeably as it said to all assembled, “Follow me. There will be a hearing about the rouge house elf, Dibby of the House of Patil.”

“Patil?” Narcissa said over the general hubbub of movement. “He’s mine. He was given to me as part of my dowry. I want him back, along with everything else this grasping whore has taken from me. Isn’t it enough that she stole my husband?”

At the same time, Padma protested, "I don't own him! He's not mine."

Before Lucius could react to Narcissa’s spurious statement or Mona Lisa's outrage, the Brownie said in a quelling tone, “Contrary to what most of you British wizards think, elves is not chattel, Madam. Now follow me.”

Narcissa stomped her foot, sending the sheet she wore to the floor. “I will not take orders from a jumped up elf with delusions of grandeur.”

The creature, without a motion, levitated Narcissa from the floor, then bound and silenced her. She struggled ineffectually at the magical bonds that held her, but remained cocooned in the enveloping magic until they reached their destination.

&*&*&

 

Tomas could not believe it. The more he watched Malfoy, the more he realised that the man was hopelessly in love with Padma and that his admission of the day before had been more than just words to smooth the tension fraught situation. During the trial, when Padma was asked to speak, the man's icy gaze never left her. When she returned to the seat, Malfoy shifted between the native fellow and the Snape so that he could see her better.

It was enough to make Tomas want to cheer the meddling little house elf that started all this, and then throttle him for interfering in such a permanent way. Tomas, until recently, had never considered having children. It had not seemed to be in the cards for him with his failed love life. Now he had Seamus, and while they were far from an old married couple, Tomas could dream.

His attention turned to Malfoy's ex, who had paled even further when the effects of Dibby's spell were made known to the court. Tomas almost felt sorry for her as she realised her intimate life had been broadcast across the world. As the court replayed portions of the more damaging bits, she became paler, and raised her chin higher in an attempt to maintain a haughty pose in the face of such damning evidence.

Padma sighed and moved restively as one of the Brownies called Severus Snape to testify. Tomas asked, "That's Snape? Jesus, he looks terrible."

Padma nodded absently, her gaze straying once again to Malfoy. Tomas rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, just go speak to Malfoy after this. You know he loves you."

A Brownie, one of the bigger ones, rapped Tomas on the head before making a rude shushing motion with its finger as the former Headmaster began to speak, his voice silky, almost purring. Former Death Eaters could really be sexy, and as far as Tomas was concerned that Snape fellow could have warmed his bed anytime if it weren't for Seamus.

&*&*&

 

In the end, Dibby's fate was that he was to return to some place called Newalla, Oklahoma with Severus Snape and his son, until September, when the family would be moving back to England. Dibby wailed as a small female Brownie with a cute button nose and a mahogany head of hair announced that she would be transporting the Snapes and Dibby to their residence. Severus bade him farewell, and for the first time in his life clasped Lucius' hand.

Lucius returned the gesture with just as much repressed emotion as his old friend. After pulling away and trying to disguise the misty condition in which he found his eyes, and the tightening of the muscles of his throat Lucius said, "I shall expect you and your lovely family for dinner when you return to England."

"We will be honoured, Lucius," Severus answered smoothly after clearing his throat several times. "It has been too long, old friend."

Dibby sobbed softly in the background as the female elf signed his probation papers. When Severus and his son turned away from Lucius, Padma stooped to the elf's level and whispered something to him. She kissed his cheek and Dibby quieted. Lucius almost sneered but refrained from the expression as the Snape Brownie gave him a hard look. These American creatures were truly formidable.

Lucius inclined his head and followed Mona Lisa, who was flanked by her homosexual flatmate, out of the room.

"Dr. Patil--Padma... a word please?" Lucius skimmed his fingers over the back of her neck as he caught up with them.

Padma turned her expression cautiously hopeful, "What is it, Lucius?"

The poof moved away seemingly becoming engrossed in the stone edifice of the hallway in which they trod. Lucius drew Padma to him, loving the way she fit against him. "Mona Lisa, I do have some situations to deal with, but I was wondering if..."

Lucius stopped, unable to continue as his emotions boiled to the surface. He attempted to master himself, to slip behind the cool, patrician facade that had protected him his entire life. He failed entirely, and so dipped his head and kissed his Mona Lisa. "I love you and I want our child... for us to be a family. You make me want to... be a better man, but..."

"I love you too, Lucius Malfoy, but I can only wait so long." Padma's hand drifted to her belly as she drew out of his embrace. "I think you need to settle things with your ex-wife and without violence this time."

Padma strode away from him, the sensual sway of her hips exaggerated by the swing of her hair as it brushed them. Lucius turned away, unable to watch her exit, and saw Narcissa. His ex-wife stood in the doorway of the courtroom her expression stricken.

&*&*&

The Brownie that had abducted his party in the pub in Times Square deposited Lucius at St. Catherine’s rectory. The creature, a lovely female who looked to be at least three quarters wood-sprite, bowed to him and said with an atrocious yank accent, "Sorry about the whole abduction thing. If you ever wanna let me make it up to you..."

Lucius suppressed a shudder as the Brownie lifted her elegant brows in flirtatious manner as she ran a finger over his rumpled waistcoat. He bowed in his best courtly fashion, "I thank you, Madam, for the offer, but I shall have to decline."

"You can't blame a girl for trying." She twittered and then blinked out as if she had never been there.

Lucius stared at the edifice of the building in the gloom of the street lamps, wondering only a little why the creature had taken him here when he had requested he be sent home at the end of his very long day. He strode through the wasted garden, more weeds and brown patches than actual recognisable garden material. He paused at the door that had a coat of fresh paint. The window beside it had been repaired also, the new glass winking at him from where a strip of cardboard had rested before. Lucius was heartened to see that his friend had used some of the funds he had donated on his own dwelling, which had been falling down around the priest’s ears for years. He raised his hand to ring the bell just as the door opened.

"Lucius." Ian's normally beaming face was ashen and covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. "We were told to expect you."

Lucius followed him into the familiar rectory office, still smelling of decay and still just as dingy as before. Draco rose from his seat, followed by Harry Potter and a vaguely familiar young man with brown hair and grey-blue eyes. Potter was the first to speak, "Mr. Malfoy, we were sent by the Ministry to debrief you. This is my partner, Seamus Finnigan."

The other man scowled but extended his hand. "Malfoy."

The two Aurors spent an hour sipping the weak tea that Mrs. Pringle, Ian's out of sorts housekeeper, provided as Lucius explained his role in the day's events. At the end of the interview, Potter stood and extended his hand once again. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Malfoy. And... thank you for the letter you sent to my wife. It really has... It made a difference."

He left the room, followed by Draco as Officer Finnigan stopped before Lucius. The man looked at Lucius appraisingly before he stated, "I hope you are as good a man as Padma claims you are. I won't stand by and watch you hurt her."

Lucius made an effort to smirk, knowing the expression was more pained than superior. "I shall endeavour to live up to your high standards. I suppose you are one of her former boy friends."

"Not bloody likely, but she does live with my boyfriend and since I care for him, I care for her, if you get my meaning." Finnigan put out his hand. "Just try not to be... yourself. You've got a child on the way, and they both need you."

Draco returned to the room after the Aurors left. "Father, Mother owled this letter to me this evening. I think you should read it."

He placed the envelope in Lucius' hand and gave him a one armed hug. Lucius stiffened and then embraced his son wishing he had done so more often in the past. "Dragon, I am sorry for the mess I made of your life."

"Father, don't." Draco pulled away from him, smoothing his hands over his still short hair, a concession to his Muggle wife's tastes. "Just read the letter. I hope we'll see you for after Mass dinner this week. Scorpius misses you and I'd like you to get to know Iris better."

"We'll see." Lucius pushed the letter into his cloak pocket. "I should leave. I'm sure Ian has a great deal to do tomorrow, and I think we're keeping him from his rest."

Lucius strode out of the house and reached the Apparation point behind the parish office. He removed himself to the Leaky Cauldron.

&*&*&

 

_Dragon,_

_I cannot convey to you how deeply sorrowful I am that I have missed so much with you. I am sorry for missing my grandchildren's birth and your wedding. I am sorry for acting on the feelings by which I was raised. I am also sorry for what I have done to your father. Until today, I had no idea how much I depended on him being there for me, no matter what I did. I know I have lost that now forever, and I wish I had never done what I did. I was a fool. ._

_I know you are thinking that I say this only because I was caught in such a public manner and perhaps that fact does play a part. I only know that I am unsuited to raise the children that I now carry. I do not know if you realise this, but your father wanted a houseful of children. It was by my insistence that you were an only child. I never wanted another child to take away from the love I had for you. I still do not._

_I want you to understand my motives in my rejection of you and your new family. I fear that the Dark Lord may return. It is probably an irrational fear, but it there nonetheless. I could not bear to stand before him and be given the same orders that doomed your cousin Nymphadora and her werewolf husband. I am weak and I know it would kill me to be the instrument of your death. Your son seems to be sweet and I could not take his father away from him._

_Please give me time to come to terms with my own prejudices. I will visit, though I do not expect you or your new wife to forgive me for missing so much of your life._

_I love you,_

_Your mother_

_PS. Since I know that you will be giving this letter to your father, I will address this next portion to him._

_Lucius, I am sorry that my actions injured you. I have held my resentment for you too long. We were never suited for each other. I never loved you as you needed to be loved, just as you could never return the affection, as I needed you to do. I hope things work out for you with your doctor._

_I shall have papers drawn up in the morning releasing you from any obligation to the children I carry. I would hope that you might be able to help me find a good family on which to bestow them. I do care enough for them to ensure that they have a good home. I cannot provide more for them than that._

_Yours,_

_Narcissa_


	19. Family Dinner Tw or Other Post-Modern Methods of Interrogation

Lucius was in the kitchens at the manor feeding one fussing infant a bottle as the other slept in the arms of the sweet-faced crone he had hired as their nurse. Narcissa, after due monetary compensation, a small amount of strong-armed pressure, and consultations between lawyers in the states and the Malfoy family counsel in England, had delivered the children, a boy, Corvus, and a girl, Altheae, to him in only a month before. They had been born a month early but healthy. Lucius offered to allow Narcissa twice annual visitation as long as she never let the children know the cloud under which they were created. As Malfoys they would have enough stigma with Lucius' Death Eater past, without the whole house elf inspired madness hanging over their heads. Lucius had already reserved a place for them in Beauxbatons. It was nice to know that many things remained the same as before the war. A small sum went a long way in greasing the wheels, if one were willing to pay to get what one wanted.

The Manor was almost completely remodelled. Gone were the scars left by both the Muggle vandals and the equally careless Ministry officials. Also gone were the almost millennium of family portraits and other priceless artefacts of the Malfoy line. Lucius, upon hearing the cost of restoration for the various and sundry wizarding portraits, had not spared a second thought to the idea of saving the tattered remnants of his vainglorious ancesters. It was time that he put the Malfoy past where it belonged. He had saved one portrait, a small one that he found in the attic, of his mother. It was an Elvish one, painted when she was on the cusp of womanhood, the colours still rich after the depradations of the years. She sat, unmoving, as was the Elvish convention, on a settee, her hand to her breast as if she was startled by something. Lucius loved her sweet look of surprised awe at what ever it was that caught her attention. The battlements of a Irish fairy ring could be seen just out the window of her boudoir. Lucius wondered at the setting. His father had never spoken of his mother after her death at his hands. Lucius knew nothing of his mother's family, other than she had none. He wondered, if she had, would he have been born. Surely some male in her line would have warned her of the Malfoy's proclivity to be widowed early and in strange ways.

Lucius had placed the portrait over the mantle in the still bare library. Many of the books his family had gathered over the years were being repaired, at least those confiscated by the Ministry and not on a proscribed list. Lucius expected less than half of the ten thousand or so tomes to be returned.

Corvus yawned against the nipple of the bottle, his grey eyes heavy with sleep. Lucius ran his hand over the black curls on his head. The boy had not bred true to the Malfoy line, except for his eyes which had changed to the colour of Draco's shortly after his birth. "It is time to sleep, little man. Daddy has an appointment today."

He handed the infant to the nurse who was jiggling Altheae in her arms. "Please see that they are dressed within the hour. I wish to take them with me."

"Very well, sir." The crone took the children from the room, her step light despite her years.

&*&*&

Padma walked carefully along the slick flagstones on the path to her parents house, Tomas and Seamus walked behind her holding hands like two lovebirds. It was yet another Sunday dinner of which she had been unable to duck. Since the revelations of that fateful Monday in November, Padma's mother had been decidedly less cool to her, instead settling on pitying looks and sad sighs. _Maa_ had foregone any efforts to fix her up with an eligible man after the Pradesh disaster. She covered for the lapse in her judgement by insisting that the family was behind Padma an hundred percent, that the evil house elf had deserved its punishment, and that Padma's disgrace, though public, was lessened due to the facts surrounding her pregnancy. Parvati had been alternating between solicitousness and smug superiority. Padma hated her.

_Bapa_ had remained silent about his feelings on the matter.

Padma knew she had disappointed him and it stung her that she had caused him such embarrassment. At times, she wished she could go back to before the holiday in Greece and make a different choice, gone to a different location, not slept with Lucius.

Lumpkin kicked her, and she paused on the walkway, stunned to silence. She had felt flutters before, but nothing like this. Soon, Tomas and Seamus were upon her and she said tearfully, always tearfully now, "He moved."

Seamus moved in front of her, "May I?"

He placed his hands on her belly, just a little pudge of a shape right now, but growing every day. Lumpkin kicked again and his eyes sought hers in shocked awe. "It's real."

"Of course,it's real, you prat." Tomas laughed, "What? Did you think she was just getting fat?"

Seamus smiled. "You know what I mean, love. I can't wait 'til we can have one of our own."

Tomas beamed and leaned in to give Seamus a resounding kiss. "I can't either, love."

The door to the house opened and _Maa_ was beckoning them in with some impatience.

&*&*&

Getting about with two infants was not something Lucius would recommend to anyone. He was late for his appointment after having to change his robes twice. Vomit now decorated his frock coat and his sleeve. Altheae apparently had a sensitive constitution. Corvus had discovered his fist and was currently trying to cram it into his mouth while Altheae fussed piteously. Lucius cradled his daughter's dandelion-fuzz covered head while gently jiggling Corvus in his carrier as the train started its motion. Lucius cursed himself roundly for not establishing a better mode of transportation than a Muggle one to his destination as Altheae, with a hiccoughing cry of outrage, began bellowing in earnest.

A Muggle woman with a child of her own in tow smiled at him in that smug knowing way that women had. "Is Mummy taking the day off?"

"No." Lucius sneered. Impertinent Muggles and their inappropriate observations. He jiggled Altheae who had proceeded from hiccoughing sobs to full out yowls.

"Oh, you poor dear, are you... a single father?" The Muggle,whose face had fallen to the facsimile of concern, moved to the seat across from him bringing her monstrosity of a child with her. The girl, no more than three, goggled at Lucius and then stuck her thumb in her mouth. Lucius unbent enough to give the girl a frosty smile to which she responded by butting her head against her mother's ample bosom.

"May I?" the woman asked reaching for Altheae. Lucius snatched his daughter back, muffling her cries against the fur of his cloak which had fallen back in his efforts to seat himself.

"If you'll just... here," the woman said, taking Altheae expertly and placing his daughter facedown on his lap. "Now, hold her head and jiggle you legs back and forth..."

Lucius looked on in surprise as Altheae quieted after emitting a loud, squelching burp.

The woman shot him a look of satisfied smugness. "My Prunella had the same problem when she was that age. I had to work and so I put her on formula. You might get your doctor to recommend something different."

"Thank you, Madam," Lucius replied with less frost than before. "I will endeavour to do so."

The train pulled to its stop and the woman said, "Oh, my, this is my stop. Good luck, you poor dear."

Lucius watched her leave the compartment, her large backside brushing against several of the passengers as she exited. Her daughter looked back solemnly at him and waved before pushing into her mother's side. Lucius inclined his head in response. Altheae seemed content to lay on his lap and so he left her. After a few moments, he surreptitiously wiped at his sleeve on his trousers, unable to do more to make himself presentable in the company of his former enemies.

Soon enough he was at his destination, and he gathered his children and they exited the train.

&*&*&

 

Padma was in the garden when her father found her. She had been dead-heading the flower stalks in preparation for spring. She wondered why _Bapa_ had not done so earlier in the year.

He ambled down the path, humming a song from a film they had watched that afternoon, his warbling tone soothing Padma as no other sound could. He came abreast of her and watched silently as she pulled another head off of the aster, crumbling the cushiony material so that the seeds would be able germinate in the coming weeks. Spring was near.

"Flea."

Padma looked up to see _Bapa's_ concerned face turned toward her. She hunched her shoulders against the censure in which she knew he held her. " _Bapa_ , I know I disappointed you. I'm sorry."

_Bapa_ joined her in her efforts to ready the garden, his deft brown fingers picking at the heads of the asters and scattering them with ease. "Lucius Malfoy called on me this week."

"He did?" Padma paused in her labours. Lucius had been in contact with her, writing weekly about the renovations to the Manor and his preparations for the twins, and going with her to the midwitch when he could. He had been solicitious but distant. His attention had been elsewhere.

Padma moved to the next bed. "What did he want?"

"I think that's for him to tell you." _Bapa_ followed her and began shifting through the seed pods of the Butterfly Weed an American cousin had sent to him years before. She pulled the first one off, the husk empty and blackened by the weather. _Bapa_ sighed gustily and began singing again. After a short while he said, "I've never been disappointed with you."

Padma's hands rested for a moment on the stalk of the plant on which she was working. "Yes, you are. I know you never wanted me to be pregnant and unmarried."

"You're correct about that," _Bapa_ answered, and stooped down to clear some imagined speck of dirt from his pristine walkway. "But it doesn't shame me that you are. Things happen."

He waggled his head in that familiar way of his and Padma smiled. "I love you, _Bapa_. I don't think I tell you that enough."

"Love is hard," _Bapa_ replied, his hands resting on the ground as he looked up at her. He sat in a squat, his feet flat on the flagstones of the walkway, his legs wide. "The only thing I ever desired for you was that you were safe. During the war... I tried to get us out of the country like your cousin Devi's family did. The visa's were all taken, and I failed you and your sister. I am sorry about that."

"Don't be, _Bapa_ ," Padma said "I couldn't have left my friends to deal with the Death Eaters. You know that."

_Bapa_ nodded, absently rubbing a spot on the walkway with his thumb, his eyes on the ground in front of him. "That is what is best about you, and what keeps me up at night. When you love, you love with your whole heart."

Padma hummed in answer. _Bapa_ continued looking away from her. "Do you love him, this Lucius Malfoy?"

"Yes."

_Bapa_ pursed his lips. "It's not always easy. I should know after almost forty years of marriage."

"He hasn't asked me to marry him, _Bapa_." Padma replied, her heart thrumming heavily in her chest. "He has other concerns right now."

"Are you sure he's changed?"

"I'm not sure he even knew who he was until recently, so I can't answer that," Padma answered lightly. "Oh look, _Maa's_ waving us in. Dinner must be ready."

Padma held out her hand and _Bapa_ took it, easing himself up with a grunt an the snapping of tendons. He did not let go of it as they walked back up the path. "When you marry, I want it to be here, Flea. You look lovely amongst the flowers."

"Of course, _Bapa_."

&*&*&

 

Lucius picked his way carefully up the cobbled path leading to the house. He stopped, placing the children's carriers out of the way of the drooping plant heads, and cast a quick _Tergeo_ on his clothes, siphoning off the various infantile emissions with less than stellar results. He smoothed his hand over his hair nervously before taking a deep breath to centre himself. Once he collected a semblance of calm he picked up the children, who were now sleeping heavily, along with their bag of necessities and proceeded to the small stoop. He rapped lightly on the lintel, resisting the urge to fidget as he waited for the owner to answer.

The door opened and a scowling woman in a heavy silk sari answered. "You must be here for my daughter."

Lucius answered as politely as he could while he juggled the infants. "And you must be Dr. Patil's lovely mother."

"I am." The woman's hard-eyed gaze travelled over him, taking in the spots that he could not clean properly and his rich travelling cloak. "Well, come in."

Lucius entered the house, which was decorated in warm wood tones and smelled of an exotic mixture of spices and incense. She took Lucius' cloak and then directed him to the formal parlour, sequestered away from the rest of the household. "I'll fetch my husband. He will want to speak to you."

She left the room with a flick of her silvering braided hair and a swish of her sari. Lucius looked about at the room, an odd combination of Eastern and Western decor and all of good quality. His eye was caught by a small statue of a blue-faced man who had a beatific smile. The statue was next to a fat elephant-headed god. Both had offerings of incense and fruit at the base of their statues. It reminded him of his father's aborted attempts at worship to the Old Gods. Their stones stood on Malfoy land still, unworshipped and unappreciated. Perhaps when he had time he would do something about that.

He rubbed his hands once more on his trousers. He had not been this nervous since the Dark Lord returned. After what seemed like hours, the door to the room opened once more and Nagesh Patil entered, his looks a male version of his daughters. Lucius rose, careful not to disturb the infants who slept at his feet. "Thank you for seeing me today."

The man proceeded to a cabinet and poured a drink for himself. "Will you join me?"

"No, thank you. I no longer indulge."

"Perhaps something else then? Tea?" Lucius demurred as Patil laughed a soft, sad husk of a sound in the quiet of the room. He took a long draw from the glass and then grimaced. "I don't normally indulge myself, but it's not everyday that a man loses his daughter."

Lucius smiled, knowing the look was sickly and green. "I should hope that is not the case."

Patil sipped the amber liquid as he took a seat across from Lucius. He caught sight of the children. "These are the poor children Padma told us about?"

"Yes. Corvus and Altheae." Lucius followed the man's gaze to the infants. "I hope my situation poses no problems."

Patil leaned forward beaming at the children, "No, of course not."

The man sipped his drink. "You're sure you will be able to care for my daughter in the style to which she is accustomed?"

Lucius nodded as he said, "I believe I shall be able to provide for her adequately."

"You are divorced." The observation was without malice but Lucius winced. Patil fixed him with a steely gaze. "Your first wife said you beat her."

"Once, and your daughter was made aware of that act. I have no wish to repeat my past mistakes." Lucius glanced down at his daughter who snuffled and then gave a low moan.

"You were a Death Eater."

"I was." Lucius answered as calmly as he could with the growing sense of panic he felt at the interview. "I... realised the error of my beliefs, but too late to do much good."

Patil took another sip of his firewhisky and then said, "It's good that you can learn from your mistakes."

Lucius pulled a small bag of coins out of his pocket, a token bride price but more than he had given to the hands of Narcissa's father for the honour of marrying her. "I am willing to pay the traditional bride price plus reparations for the indecent haste in which we must undertake this union. I am aware that this in not a custom in which your culture partakes any longer, but it is our way."

He laid the bag on the table, willing Patil to take it. The man sat back as if contemplating the act. Lucius' heart fluttered as Patil snaked his hand to take the bag and then pocketed it. "Padma will bring half my business to the marriage upon my death. Is that acceptable?"

"Most assuredly, sir." Lucius rose as the man stood. He took out his small pen knife and carefully nicked his palm. Patil did the same and they shook, it was the the last and most basic form of blood magic allowed by the Ministry. Lucius incanted the spell that would bind his family to Patil's and then they broke apart.

Patil healed himself as did Lucius. "I suppose you would like to see my daughter now."

Lucius inclined his head in assent as the man ushered him into his home, infants in tow.

&*&*&

_Maa_ whipped into the room, her mouth set in a straight line as she headed for the kitchen. Tomas broke from his conversation with Justin long enough to shoot Padma an inquiring look before returning to counter his point with an emphatic chop of his hand through the air. Padma's gaze returned to the garden after she glanced at the clock. _Bapa_ had been gone at least half an hour. She wondered what kept him. It was not like him to keep _Maa_ waiting when the meal was cooked.

Seamus lounged next to Parvati a look of boredom on his face as she prattled on about Justin's extravagant expenditures on their infant. Padma shot him a look of commiseration and he pulled a face, wiggling his ears as he did so. Padma stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. She thought at the very least Seamus would laugh, but he did not. It was when she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder that she realised the room's babble had been hushed as if by a Silencing Spell.

A familiar expensive scent wafted toward her as Lucius lifted her hand and kissed the air above it, murmurring, "You are lovely as always, Mona Lisa."

_Shit._

Lucius tucked her hand under his arm. "I would like a word with you, if I might."

Padma caught Parvati's look of outrage as she led him from the room to a small alcove on the deck that overlooked the garden. Lucius enveloped her in his arms and he kissed her thoroughly, his lips hungry and rough. She returned his ardour and clung to him, her heart beating a wild patter under his skilled ministrations.

He said as they broke, "I've missed you. I thought that I might have lost you."

Lucius pulled away letting his hands drift to her silk-clad belly. "I have asked your father for your hand in marriage, but I should like to hear your opinion on the matter."

"Is that it?" Padma queried. "No grand declarations, no lovely speeches?"

Lucius eyes glinted in the gloom of the gathering dusk. "Do you require it?"

"I might." Padma said, leaning on the railing of the alcove, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you love me?"

Lucius knelt before her on one knee, his gaze searching her face as he started, "Mona Lisa, I come to you a humbled man..."

Padma felt the laughter rise in her as if they were effervescent bubbles in the Muggle colas that Tomas liked so well. She took a breath, trying to contain her mirth as Lucius looked at her imploringly. It turned into a snort of laughter. "I just want to know if you're marrying me for the baby or for me. It's a simple yes or no answer."

Lucius gave a harrumph of irritation and then ordered, "Well, help me up then, my knees are paining me."

"Yes, you are older than my father, you know." Padma snorted again as she helped him to his feet.

Padma sobered as she crossed to Lucius. "Answer my question. Why are you marrying me?"

"I have informed you that I have deep feelings for you. I believe I even said I loved you." Padma could tell from his clipped tone that he was doing his best to keep his temper. "Of course, I want our child... Dammit, what would you have me say? I am a selfish man. I want it all... you, the children... more if you wouldn't mind. Is that enough?"

Padma launched into his arms, covering his face with kisses which he rapidly traded for his own. He pulled away from her, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs resting on her fluttering pulse points, "I take it that is possible yes, then?"

Padma sobered long enough to say, "I think that is a definite yes."

She pulled away from him, taking his hand in hers as she pulled him toward the house, "Join us for dinner. I hope you like it spicy."

Lucius pulled her in front of him, letting her feel the effects of her cinnamon skin on his body. "With you? Always."


End file.
